I can’t believe I am actually sharing this weakness. I have serious issues about being inadequate.
I have a packing deficiency-you know-for traveling. The harder I work at being more efficient in this area of my life, the worse I get.
Like, I need a 504 plan; some accommodations. Because I simply can’t figure it out…on my own. Maybe I need a life coach…a sensei who can help me pack less like Rose Dawson from The Titanic.
My whole family knows this about me. Of course, they know, and they would probably like to add that I also may struggle just a teensy bit with time management.
And they’re over it.
For them, traveling with me, looks like this: me struggling with overloaded bags, feeling miserable/angry/sweaty during our quest for the terminal, me
begging, pleading asking for a family member to hold, roll or drag an item I can no longer bare, or to stuff something else into their bag of roomy wonder while I lag behind desperate not to let them see the tug of war I am playing with my tears as they have either said, “No” or “Fine” with an eye roll that makes me feel blue.
I must deal with this.
will not continue to be a loser getting judged by judgy judgers love them.
My attempt to remedy this, of course, began with several hours of squandered time relinquished to the YouTube lords which led me directly to Amazon, and soon after that, to my plan to go forth and pack.
Upon receiving the Amazon purchases, I spent time in my closet secretly laying everything out, making notes and checklists carefully putting together a game plan that rocked.
And finally, it was time. We would be flying out the following morning, and I was ready.
The morning came fast and furious as it always seems to on a day of travel, and I was ready to triumph. I began unwrapping my Amazon purchases of toiletry cases (yes, there was more than one and that number is not necessary here), my neck pillow, passport holder, and blanket that would not only keep me warm, but contained pockets that would hold things.
I got my packing cubes in order and grabbed my Knock Knock Pack This! Pad Packing List (courtesy of Amazon…that’s right, it’s amazing) and began furiously checking off each item as I tucked it away into my suitcase.
Luckily, I had already whittled down my outfit choices (after several edits) to a bare minimum, so packing it all up was a pretty quick process…or would have been had I already brought down the extra suitcase I ended up needing to pack all the things I purchased to help me pack light…
I have never needed two suitcases.
Time to load the car.
The bag that was supposed to be loose and full of room for foreign country purchases seemed a little heavy upon zipping, so I decided to do one final edit.
I removed a sweater.
And put it in the other suitcase.
I thought about more, but just couldn’t seem to part with any of it.
So, I zipped it up, choking out the feelings of failure poking at my brain like a hungry mosquito in the Amazon jungle.
Nah, it’s all good.
Luckily, My husband had enlisted a friend’s son to take us to the airport so, we had one less travel stress.
As I was the final one to leave the house due to my last minute decision to lighten up, I was faced with a sea of bags that already claimed a space on the floor of my spacious Armada. Help was offered, but not wanting anyone to feel the weight of my bag, I alone, hurled it into the back of my car where it landed on its side awkwardly balancing on the tidy heap of small bags neatly tucked in. (I am convinced it would’ve been easier to throw a murder victim wrapped in an 8×10 rug over a bridge.) Then, I quickly tucked the uninvited but necessary, like a family member you want to hide, bag into the one last crevice available.
I am sweating already.
I still did good.
It’s funny how you talk to yourself desperately trying to persuade your brain not to buy into the thoughts pecking their way in begging to be heard. It’s like when you have acid bubbling up in the back of your throat and you know without a shadow of a doubt that you will be throwing up in the very near future, yet you tell yourself that Your fine, I’ll just brush my teeth, I’ll get some fresh air, That’s all I need, and then in that same breath you throw up violently all the while thanking the Good Lord above that you threw up.
Yeah, it’s the same.
I knew I packed too much. I knew I had to purge.
It was like some madness came over me. My husband was sitting in the front seat, while our friend’s son, Grant, drove. They were deep into a conversation about baseball or football, who knows, and I had a window.
A window of opportunity to undo the doing, of the incompetent packing.
As I turned toward the backseat facing my two teenage daughters, I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. They were blocking my path to keeping my insanity a secret.
I asked one of them to unzip my bag. My question was answered with a death stare.
I had to actually crawl between my lovely daughters and kneel on the console that separated them in order to reach the third row seating where my bag sat.
At this point it didn’t matter. They knew.
While on this crusade, I had to keep shifting my weight to balance on that console with my butt in the air and my high heels desperately trying to find somewhere to land as I poked and prodded around in my bag looking for less amazing things.
We were getting closer to the airport so, I furiously began plucking out items discarding them one by one on the floorboard behind me. At some point, I bravely leaned back ever so slightly just to steal a quick glance at my daughters imploring them to help.
I was met with a glare less like we should help and more like we are so over this, we can’t even look at you right now.
I guess not.
After what felt like a good 30 minutes on the stair master, I decided that I had lightened up enough, zipped my bag up, turned around and plopped back into my seat. Glowing. From all the sweat.
I was done just as we arrived at the airport.
They looked at me. I looked at them.
My husband was none the wiser.