I spend a fair amount of time worrying that somebody is going to steal my stuff. This feeling is especially keen when I am passing through airport security. I always have everything but the kitchen sink in my carryon luggage, and have to utilize five or six of those plastic tubs to spread everything out for inspection. My shoes, my belt, my coat, my cell phone, my laptop, my toiletries, my snacks, my other shoes that I forgot to put in my checked bag. . .and my purse! Putting my purse, which contains my right-to-travel documents and whatever access to legal tender I possess, onto a conveyer belt and hoping I can catch up to it before somebody else decides to adopt it is a stressful experience. However, it’s been fine so far. Knock on wood. I’m sure that everybody who is going through airport security is there for a valid reason, and that reason does not include making off with other people’s belongings.

The first time I remember losing something to someone else’s sticky fingers was when I went to the movies at about age eight with my family. I had gotten a beautiful new wallet for my birthday, and I was carrying it everywhere. I placed this wallet, containing two dollars, in my coat pocket, and hung my coat over the back of my seat. Then I set about enjoying the movie. Fast forward to the feeling of anguish and betrayal: when I put my coat on and felt in the pocket for my new wallet, I discovered that it was gone, never to be seen again by me on this earthly plane.

A romantic comedy* that I enjoyed involved a young Canadian woman having her bags stolen in a Paris airport. This experience led, predictably enough, to madcap adventures, newfound self-confidence, true love, wealth, and lifelong happiness. I don’t think that is how things would have gone for me in a similar scenario. The theft of someone’s passport is a fine plot device for a rom com, but not so much for real life. As I write this, I sit in a domestic airport, and I check about every five minutes to make sure I can find the reassuring shape of my wallet, which contains the everything that gives me permission to do stuff, buy stuff, and go places. Whatever would I do if my credit card and driver’s license went missing? Am I still a person if I can’t prove it?

I know material possessions aren’t supposed to matter, but having a modest supply of cash on me sure does boost my sense of efficacy.

*French Kiss starring Kevin Kline and Meg Ryan