I often feel like my life is an endless stream of last minute to-do lists, but never has that feeling been more potent than the final week leading up to my departure. I have been working full time, Nannying, taking online Spanish classes and readying myself to go abroad. Thankfully I have had my wonderful mother helping me along, running little errands, and thinking of those important all too important things mothers always seem to think of. Every time I mentally check off one of my to-do boxes, something seems to replace it. I have prescriptions and paperwork, a passport, vaccines, credit cards, living accomodations, a Kindle and I even chopped off a good portion of my hair which leads me to my final and most daunting task...
Packing my life into one suitcase. There's a big box that needs to be checked. This grandiose undertaking has led me to the conclusion that I suffer from self diagnosed bipolar packing disorder. One minute I'm packing ever item I own, and the next I'm taking it all out, scolding myself for being superfluous. I wish it was easy. There must be a balance, but I can not seem to find it. I will be taking two bags: one carry-on and one checked bag. The whole of four months packed in two bags. Thankfully I now have a Kindle, an early birthday present from my parents, though I think they purchased it out of the very real fear that I would pack only books and end up simply reading naked in Argentina. Now that we are able to remove that card from the worry table, my attention focuses on the seasons. Three seasons: summer, fall, and winter; the three seasons I will experience. My less than decisive nature proves a fault. Here I sit. Staring at a clean basket of laundry willing myself to move. Put something in, take something out. Anything really. If I pack too much I am vain; too little and I am unprepared. There is little that worries me about my journey; why I am giving extra thought to this? Many have done this before me. It is just stuff after all. I'm diving in, wish me luck.
Hil
(photo credit)
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