I love traveling, but I hate packing. Packing supplies for a child with Type 1 Diabetes, and the security exchanges that has brought over the years, has not helped me love it any more. It has made me better at it – sometimes – but I’m still not in love with it.
I always try to pack light. I’m not always successful, but I try. A few years ago, I started refusing to bring the big suitcase. Yet, I want outfit choices. And on this last trip, I lived and worked through at least three seasons! Some days I was cold, and at other times, I walked on the beach under the hot sun.
A few weeks ago, as we waited (and waited) for our bags to shoot up on the conveyor belt from that mystery place in the airport, I thought about all the things packed inside everyone’s bags. Maybe they were filled with hopes and dreams, the thrill of exploration, or something else entirely. These battered boxes might hold pride, carry the weight of heartache, or perhaps they’re full of peace and relief.
As I watched the rows and rows of unclaimed luggage move around like a crowded kaitenzushi (sushi train) with sushi no one wants, I had visions of suitcases full of hope, like a neatly folded suit for a new job brimming with the potential of the unknown. Or maybe tucked away is the anticipation of leaving a child at university, a bittersweet mix of pride and heartache. Maybe there is a cherished gift, perhaps to be shared with an old friend, rekindling bonds in a quiet moment over coffee in the corner of a quaint café somewhere.
A lot had happened since my arrival to the merry-go-round of emotions in baggage claim. By the time I had finished my trip, there were three weeks of memories, reunions, events, and work that I had to push back into my own bags.
As I struggled to close my suitcase by lying on top of it in a strange way, I caught my frazzled self in the mirror. Travel is all too often considered something glamorous, but it is not always glamorous and can bring up a lot of stuff, too. It carries more than the physical weight of what’s in this cube. Luggage can hold both the anticipated and unforeseen.
I had a lot of anxiety about my recent trip to the US. I had not been back since before COVID times, and let’s just say that the news headlines did not make it appear to be the safe, sane place I once knew. But as only life can, it surprised me. The journey ahead, once clouded by unease, unfolded with moments of joy, unexpected encounters, and the gentle reassurance that sometimes, the weight we carry isn’t as heavy as we feared it would be.
In the end, our luggage tells a story. Each trip could be a new chapter in the book of our lives. As I close this mini chapter, I’m embracing the physical and metaphorical weight of my suitcase. I’m okay knowing that within its confines lies the essence of my journey – past, present, and future – and a few extra sweaters that I was not ashamed to use in the New England summer.
I am hopeful that in a few years, my emotional baggage will become the size of a small, light carry-on. Bear with me as I am a work in progress.
