As the designated “planner friend,” I live by the motto that no detail is too small. I can build a five-day itinerary in five minutes and find a low-key bar with a fireplace on a Tuesday. I am a master of control and curation.
But all of that falls apart the second I open a suitcase.
Packing for a trip is not just a logistical puzzle for me; it is a full-blown existential crisis. It’s an act of trying to predict the future and failing spectacularly. I see my open suitcase not as an empty space to fill, but as a blank canvas for every possible version of myself I might need to be.
The internal monologue is a battlefield. “What if we go to that fancy place for dinner? You’ll need the dress. But what if it’s too cold? Pack the coat. Okay, but what if we get invited to a casual bonfire? Now I need jeans and a hoodie. And what if I get sad and just want to stay in and read? Better pack three different books. What if the weather is a lie? Better pack shorts and a sweater.”
It’s a chaotic spiral of “what ifs” that leaves me with a wardrobe so mismatched and voluminous that my suitcase groans with the weight of my anxiety. I’ve arrived for a three-day weekend with enough clothes for a month, including a pair of heels I’ll never wear and a raincoat for a city that hasn’t seen rain in years.
I’ve come to realize that this isn’t a failure of planning; it’s a failure of acceptance. We put so much pressure on ourselves to have the “perfect” experience that we try to pack for every single possible scenario. Our suitcases become a physical representation of our fear of missing out. We’re not just bringing clothes; we’re bringing our hopes, our anxieties, and the person we think we should be on vacation.
So, on my last trip, I tried something radical. I gave up. I packed only what I needed for the first day, and a small pile of things I actually liked to wear. The suitcase closed with ease. My mind, for the first time in my travel history, felt just as light. I realized that the best part of traveling isn’t having the perfect outfit for every occasion, but discovering who you are in a new place. And sometimes, that person only needs one pair of shoes.