Why I’ll Never Leave a Bag Unattended Again

Some things will always remain unknown

Photo by Taylor Beach on Unsplash

I pulled open the hotel blackout curtains to discover a swirl of snowflakes. The storm had begun earlier than predicted and I could see that the upper parking lot was already covered with at least an inch of snow. I’d been lazily flipping channels in my pajamas for the previous hour, but, seeing this, I quickly got dressed and started stuffing clothes randomly into my roller suitcase and into my hanging bag. I needed to get on the road immediately. The drive from Lake Placid, New York to Manhattan was over five hours, even on a clear day.

Were my new shoes facing in opposite directions? Was one of them on its side? I knew they were kicked off with exhaustion the night before. Maybe one had spent the night by the TV while the other landed under the desk. I’d ponder this configuration for several days. Square-toed and stylish, I’d purchased them expressly for this work trip, spending a bit more than I should have and trying to justify them as an investment. They were an early-career attempt, I can admit, to put my best foot forward. I was 29 years old and working hard to become a full-fledged adult.

Though I’d wanted to splurge on room service that last night, I didn’t let myself. Instead, I’d peeled an orange from breakfast that looked far better than it tasted, and ate the rest of the mixed nuts I’d been snacking on all week. Then I’d fallen into the deep sleep of someone on the other side of a stressful event. I was a figure skating coach who’d been trying to make a good impression, to prove to myself and others that I was capable of shepherding teenagers and their families through a rigorous sport. But my athletes hadn’t placed as well in this competition as they would have liked. They were disappointed and so was I. I didn’t know if they were disappointed in me, as their coach, but I was certainly blaming myself.

Even though I’d been a competitor for many years, it was difficult to understand the judges’ scores, which have always been a bit mysterious and highly subjective, despite the numerical underpinnings. It was my responsibility, on this side of the situation, to interpret the results and help them improve. I was making my best attempt, but it felt quite possible I wasn’t cut out for this profession. Some reassessing and regrouping had to be done; I just needed to get home first.

The glass door leading out to the parking lot was at the end of the hallway at the back of the building. I paused, realizing I couldn’t get both pieces of my luggage across the slippery lot. I decided to leave my small rolling suitcase right by the glass door and come back for it.

I swished my sneakers across the concrete like the skater I once was and swung my big, folded-over hanging bag into the back seat. I turned the car on to warm it up and get the defrost blowing. Then I sneaker-skated back across the lot and opened the glass door.

My rolling luggage wasn’t there.

I jogged down the hall. Maybe someone saw it sitting there and tucked it away for me somewhere. I’d been outside only a minute, maybe 50 seconds. There were no guests and no staff members in sight. No housekeeping carts, no room doors propped open.

I remembered that my car was currently running with keys in it. If my luggage was just stolen, I didn’t need my car to be stolen as well. I ran back out, less gracefully this time, now slipping.

After I turned the car off, I raced to the front desk to report what happened and to see if anyone had turned my luggage in. While they called housekeeping, I glanced toward the street where the snow was accumulating. I didn’t have the money to get stuck here and stay another night. I was daunted by the sum already on my credit card. I wouldn’t be able to pay off what was on there unless I figured out how to get more clients. This prospect felt unlikely given the competition results.

Though I didn’t want to, I had to leave the hotel without my luggage. Surely it was somewhere on the premises, but I couldn’t stick around any longer to pursue it further. Yes, yes, they assured me at the desk, they’d call if the bag turned up.

They’re just clothes, I told myself as I cleared off the rear window with my forearm. They’re just things, I told myself as I put my key in the ignition. Of course, in order to appear professional that week, they were my nicest clothes. I’d rushed my packing after I noticed the snow, so I had no idea what ended up in that missing bag and what was in the one I still had.

Out on the highway, the wind picked up. Engorged snowflakes flew sideways toward the windshield. It was like driving through a tunnel of white streaks. This was now a full-on blizzard. I clicked my wipers to maximum and sat with my back extra straight, tension hardening like cement in my shoulders. I knew I shouldn’t be driving with visibility so low, without being able to see what was ahead. I wanted to pull over, but I didn’t want to get stuck then freeze to death. I wanted to find a hotel, but I couldn’t put any more money on my credit card and I wasn’t seeing any signs for any hotels anyway. I wanted to call my mom—she’d know what to do—but I couldn’t take my hands off the wheel to dial the numbers.

I focused through tears on the tire tracks made by the car in front of me, imagining that this driver was guiding me forward. We were in this together. In the squall, I cringed while imagining someone else: a person, whoever it may be, pulling my dirty socks and underwear from that suitcase. “I’m an idiot!” I said aloud, clenching my fingers tighter around the wheel. I’d heard the announcements in airports many times: Do not leave your bags unattended. Why would I do that, even for a short time? How could I be so foolish? So irresponsible? This was a stupid mistake on top of a bad week, serving as further proof of my incompetence.

The snow turned to slush as I got closer to New York City. I lugged that hanging bag up five floors into my tiny apartment. Though I was exhausted, I unzipped it to take inventory of what I had left. I still had my striped dress and my blazer. One of my favorite sweaters was gone, along with a polka dot button-down I’d had for a long time. Also not there: a wool skirt, the battered copy of Middlesex I’d been reading, a scarf my mother had given me for Christmas, and more items I couldn’t immediately recall. Yes, they were just things, but I felt vaguely violated anyway. There was now a weird hole in my wardrobe.

Would any of my clothes even fit the person who now had them, or were my belongings already tossed in a dumpster? Maybe someone just needed a suitcase. Maybe they thought there’d be some jewelry or other valuables in there.

I dug around in the zipper compartment and found one of my new square-toed shoes. But I didn’t find the other one. I dropped the shoe on the floor beside my futon. No reason to put it in the closet if it didn’t have its pair. I didn’t want to just toss it in the garbage either. I looked down at it, feeling sorry for this inanimate object, and myself. I didn’t know who’d taken my bag. I didn’t know if I was going to get it back. I didn’t know if I was going to be able to course-correct my career. My existence seemed riddled with unknowns.

Suddenly, something gurgled up within me. All the tension of that drive and the confusion around the bag started to release into the room, almost like a mist. The missing items started to feel inconsequential in comparison to my anxiety about work and the bigger things I had to figure out. The fact that the separated shoes weren’t doing either of us any good now seemed more ridiculous than anything else. “Enjoy my dirty underwear and my one shoe!” I cackled, with no one in earshot.

A few weeks later, when it was clear that the hotel wasn’t going to call with news, and that the mystery was going to remain unsolved, I finally threw out the shoe. A few months after that, I turned 30. In the following years, I learned that a lot of excellent things can occur in life and a lot of horrible things, too, far worse than a missing suitcase. I realized that we often don’t know how a given event happened, or why, and we may never find out.

Nonetheless, I managed to grow professionally and personally and continued to put my best foot forward. I coached many athletes to outcomes more positive than we’d experienced on that trip. Since that rushed moment in that hotel hallway, I’ve of course made many other mistakes, but there’s one thing I’ve never done again: I’ve never let a bag out of my sight, even for a second.

Jocelyn Jane Cox’s book, Motion Dazzle: A Memoir of Motherhood, Loss, and Skating on Thin Ice (Vine Leaves Press 9/30/2025) explores motherhood, sports participation, and caregiving. Her work has appeared in The New York Times, Slate, Newsweek, Good Men Project, WIRED, The Offing, The Linden Review, Cleaver, Litro Magazine, Penn Review, and Colorado Review. Her fiction has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She received her MFA in Creative Writing at Sarah Lawrence College and now lives with her son and husband in Nyack, NY. More information at www.jocelynjanecox.com and on her Instagram (jocelynjanecoxwriter).