I never thought an impulse buy would change my life.

Two years ago while in New York I wandered into Elaine Arsenault's narrow East Village storefront with no need for, or intention to buy, a purse. But there, among her beguiling hand-stitched creations, was a small, no, a teeny bag. Six inches tall at most. Nubby pink upholstery fabric. Tight little leather parabola of a handle. Did I need it? No. But I loved it. I bought it.

As the thrill of spontaneous purchase ebbed, a wave of guilt replaced it. My current bag, a student's satchel jammed with months' worth of papers, receipts, file folders, floppy disks, and keys barely contained my daily chaos. The little purse had no place in my life. How could I justify the purchase? I had to justify the purchase. The next morning I fished out my wallet, my checkbook, and my keys. I tucked them in the little pink purse. "This is your new bag," I told myself. "It has to be. You paid for it." And I set off, feeling like a plane with no cargo hold.

The guilt faded, of course. But to my surprise, a new me emerged. A better me. With only a tiny bag at hand, I found myself taking a reflective moment in the morning to decide what few items I truly needed for the day. By evening, anything I'd acquired, from kids' school notices to parking tickets, had to come out of the purse and be dealt with. My life became more organized without my ever having set so lofty a goal. I moved more lightly through my days, swinging instead of hauling. I felt free.