The Art of Leaving Behind

The Art of Leaving Behind

Underneath the surface of excitement that bubbles up at the thought of holiday travel, there's a quiet, gnawing dread that takes shape in the form of packing. It's a puzzle, a balancing act of taking just enough to feel prepared but not so much that we lose ourselves in the excess. In the tapestry of our journeys, each item we choose to bring along is a thread, woven with intention, or sometimes, desperation.

As I stand before my open suitcase, it's not just clothing and toiletries I see. I see fragments of fear—fear of being caught unprepared, fear of being judged for wearing the same outfit twice, fear of the unforeseeable accidents that seem to lurk around every corner of unfamiliar territory. And in this moment, I make a silent pledge to pack not just for the journey ahead, but for the journey within.

I start with a list, not of items, but of experiences I wish to invite into my life. The list becomes a map, guiding me not towards what to carry, but towards what to leave behind. It's an introspective process, one where every item contemplated is a reflection of my vulnerabilities and insecurities. Do I really need six pairs of shoes, or is that just a way to ground my wandering soul?

Forecasts—both meteorological and emotional—are checked and rechecked. I am determined not to let the weather, with its fickleness and unpredictability, dictate the climate of my heart. So, I choose layers, both of clothing and of resilience, preparing myself to stand in snow with grace, if need be, or bask in the unexpected warmth of a stranger's smile.

The temptation to pack every piece of clothing that whispers a sense of security is strong. But I resist. I remind myself that spills and stains are but surface scars, ephemeral and fleeting in the grand scheme. They are not the stories I wish to bring back home, not the memories I wish to carry in my heart.

Hotels, with their impersonal yet comforting predictability, remind me that I am but one of many travelers seeking solace away from home. They offer the essentials, allowing me to unburden myself of the unnecessary. It's a lesson in trust—trusting in the presence of what's needed, even when I'm not the one providing it.

Liquids and gels, confined to tiny bottles, become a metaphor for my own attempts to contain the tumultuous emotions that travel invokes. Each small container, a reminder that sometimes, it's not about limiting ourselves, but about finding ways to let go without making a mess.

My makeup and perfume, pared down to the essentials, speak of a deeper realization—that beauty is not in the multitude of shades we carry, but in the simplicity of being present, of being genuinely ourselves. And as for jewelry, I leave behind the precious for the same reason I strive to travel light—to remind myself that the truest treasures cannot be lost or stolen.

Folding clothes into the suitcase becomes a meditative practice. Each fold, each decision of what makes the cut, is an act of self-assertion. I am more than my belongings, more than my preparedness for every scenario. I am a traveler, not just through the world, but through the landscape of my own fears and desires.

As I zip up my suitcase, not having to sit on it to coax it shut, a sense of lightness envelops me. It's not just the packing that's been accomplished—it's a declaration of independence from the burdens we carry without thought. And while inspectors might judge the contents of my luggage, they cannot weigh the significance of what I've chosen to leave behind.

In the act of packing light, I rediscover the weight of my thoughts, the heft of my choices. And in doing so, I set forth, not just on a journey across distances, but on a pilgrimage towards understanding the art of leaving behind.