"Pack Light," They Said

A few thoughts on traveling without my books and with all of myself.

Pack light.

It’s a common piece of wisdom for anyone about to go on an adventure. I’ve never traveled for more than a week at a time, so “packing light” for a month required deliberation and time. I curated the contents of my suitcase. I added five bottoms and subtracted two. Axed shorts from my list altogether. Debated whether the trench coat was worth its weight. (Reader, it was.)

And. In a move that runs contrary to my personality and sense of self, I also left my books at home in favor of a slender, lightweight Kindle. As I loaded a month’s reading work onto my new device, I thought about all the heavy things I wouldn’t have the luxury of leaving at home. Not physical objects, but the intangibles: my self-doubt and anxiety and the insistent question of,

What’s next?

What’s next?

What’s next?

When it comes to our minds, there’s no packing light. We can’t fold pieces of ourselves neatly into packing cubes or ball up elements of our personalities and stuff them into shoes. We have to haul our whole selves all the time.

In the past ten days, I’ve been delighted to find that all the extra room in my suitcase has allowed me the freedom to look at the things I’ve been carrying (metaphorically, of course) in my mind.

Photo by Vicki King

A Collection of Familiar Yet Unfamiliar Stimuli

What we call “travel” is a collection of familiar yet unfamiliar stimuli: nature that’s recognizable but not quite like our own, cities askew, familiar foods combined in surprising ways, people who are different but still, of course, always people.

This ever-changing landscape causes me to question the patterns of thought that are part of my environment. Over time, these thoughts have become like armchairs in my mind. They’re just there all the time — like the furniture in my house. But now that my surroundings are ever-changing, there’s a sense that maybe I could move the metaphorical armchair beside the metaphorical couch and the metaphorical television up here in my head. Maybe my mindset could be different. A little lighter or maybe just heavy in a different way.

Right now, I’m focused on rearranging a particular thought pattern I’ve lived with since last fall: the idea that “I’m stuck.” I’ve uttered this sentence aloud countless times over the last year. It’s quite literally weighing me down, becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I don’t think I’m at the stage where I want to “fix” anything yet; right now, I just want to move the armchair an inch to the left, then an inch more. Travel is helping me do that. For now, give me all the new stimuli, a light suitcase, and (apparently) many metaphors.

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This week, I’ve only written 500 words of my new novel. Admitting this sends a wave of panic through me, but I’m trying to remind myself that writing isn’t just sitting down at your computer and typing. Writing is living, and every bit of wonder I’m collecting on my trip will somehow slot into my new project.

A moment of awe for Switzerland.

Welcome to Madwoman by

Chelsea Bieker

. This story follows Clove, a mother of two trying to outrun an abusive childhood by diving head-first into the world of wellness. Clove’s obsession with tinctures, vitamins, and sustainable clothing may be earning her a mountain of credit card debt — but that’s the price of healing… or so she thinks.

Bieker’s funny, endearing, and heartfelt writing kept me engaged all the way through this absolute banger of a book. There were so many genuine laugh-out-loud moments despite the tumult and violence that defined this character’s childhood — or perhaps because of it.

Just for fun, I went on a thrift shopping spree and found a cute outfit that I think Clove would buy. (Although, I do think she would opt for vegan rather than genuine leather mules).

P.S. — If you haven’t already read Bieker’s two other books, Godshot and Heartbroke, you MUST.

Thank you, as always, for reading Life Lives.

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