Isn't it ironic that our driver's license is referred to as our "ID" and our "ID" is also our "identity"? It's almost an injustice to the world identity itself. Everyone carries around a purse or a wallet to hold their ID, so does that mean that all we are is in our purses and wallets? I wish knowing the roots of someone’s identity was so easy! Voting for the President wouldn’t be as much of a contest. Judges would know the nature of those they are trying. It would be a great tool when trying to hire someone. It would definitely save those who are unlucky in love a lot of time and heartache. Unfortunately, it isn’t that easy.

My purse doesn’t contain much – a small wallet with my driver's license, debit card, health insurance card, a few credit cards and a little cash. Oh, and we can’t forget the Starbucks card. At any given moment, it more than likely contains my cell phone and car keys. There are a few photos of family and friends. One is of my husband and me in Cannon Beach, and also one of us in Epcot at Disneyworld. Another is of one of my cousins, who is currently serving with the Army in Iraq, and one of some old friends that live too far away. The coin purse of my wallet contains one of two guitar picks my husband and I got at Experience Music Project nearly five years ago on one of our first dates (the other is in his wallet). Aside from the photos and the guitar pick, there’s nothing that couldn’t be found in any other woman walking down the street’s purse. And what is there to learn from those items anyway? That I have a checking account, I can drive, I probably like music, I’ve been to Florida and also to the Oregon Coast, and that I know someone in the Army? None of that is unique to anyone in particular, and who doesn’t know at least someone that’s in the military these days?

What my purse doesn’t show is all the things that make me who I am. It doesn’t give any insight into my personality and values. My purse can’t tell you all the things that I’ve been through. It doesn’t say what my major is, or where my family comes from. It doesn’t reveal my heritage, or that when I gave up my maiden name, I gave up a name that I shared with one of the most admired men in history, and that I am proud to be his great-niece. It can’t say that I hate olives or that I eat pineapple on everything, or that the reason I have that Starbucks card isn’t because I like the coffee, but because in my mind, a cold, rainy Washington day isn’t complete without a Grande Nonfat Vanilla Rooibos (which is tea). You wouldn't see how much I love summer, or how no matter what the weather is like, I'm probably wearing flip-flops. While it does hold a few clues that might hint at my love for travel and music, it doesn’t show just how important I think those things are. It doesn’t show that my friends and family mean the world to me, and that my husband and I have been friends since we were kids. It can’t tell you how much I love helping others, or how much I love laying around the house on Sundays. Sure, it does have the information that the bank and the government and my insurance company needs to help me easily be a functioning member of society or in times of trouble, and all of that is important stuff. However, at the heart of the matter, they're just little plastic cards with our names on them, some numbers that somehow connect us to the conveniences they provide, and maybe our address and birthday. That’s about it though. They're just our standard issue, cookie-cutter, just-what-everyone-else-has-and-has-to-carry-around pieces of plastic.

With all the the possessions our purses and wallets can hold, possessions aren't what define us. They lack the heart, soul, feelings, likes, dislikes, and history of their rightful owners. Those are the things that make you, you. Those are the things that make you different and set you apart from everyone else. Those are the things that give you your true identity.