Baggage (Un)Claim

Here’s this week’s reflection. I hope it resonates with you and ask that, if you enjoyed, please comment and share on your social media. Heartfelt thanks for all your support!

Keeping the light on for you,

Carol

There is one place I avoid like the plague at an airport: the circular mayhem of erratically tossed suitcases, aggressive hands, and potential bagless despondency, Baggage claim. That “Carousel of Hope” has forever lost its luster as my bestie, and thankfully so. Have you ever watched a child get ready for a trip? While parents handle practical stuff, a kid sneaks in every extra wubbie they snuggle with. I used to pack that way, except my “wubbies” included extra shoes, clothing, and enough accessories for all the women on the overbooked flight. And it has taken me 54 years to recover. 

My genetic overpacking mutation was expressed early in my youth. Because my family did not vacation often, when we did travel, it was a REALLY. BIG. DEAL. Special outfits were purchased and saved for their debut on departure day, and every day thereafter for the duration of the trip. Dad never bought into this retail insanity, but Mom made up for his lack of enthusiasm, and then some. 

As I grew so did my suitcase. I packed for every possible scenario, especially where shoes were involved. (Note to reader: shoes are always involved.) Until one day when I ended up with tread on my face. I was visiting a Florida friend and, accordingly, shopped with reckless abandon during my stay. It did not matter that I lived in the cold, conservative Midwest, or that it was February, and I would soon be returning to snow on the ground and summer a distant mirage. The hot tropical sun and surf seduced me. And before I knew it, several pairs of new flamboyant sandals were hitching a ride up north. 

By the time I showed up for my return flight, my bag weighed well over fifty pounds and, to avoid extra fees, it was up to my pal and me to strategically reapportion the contents between suitcase and carry-on. All would have proceeded with little fanfare had my personal (and very public) yard sale not occurred at sidewalk check-in, because nothing screams fun more than having one’s undergarments vigorously wave hello to cooing babies, gawking children, and total strangers – all in the name of retail therapy.  Embarrassed, I pressed onward vowing to change my ways. But prudent travel and fiscal responsibility were not modeled behavior during my upbringing and, despite my best intentions, I soon reverted to the error of my prior packing predilections. 

I had always been intensely jealous of my business-traveler husband who could pack for any destination in 15 minutes, give or take, in a small carry-on and backpack. He was an understated dresser with little need for excess hair products, fashion options, or opinions from others about his ensembles. And he never had to publicly bundle his BVDs back into submission due to excess spending or overstuffing. I would routinely shoot him the stink eye while watching him methodically count the days of underwear and clothing required.

Hubby had grumbled for years when having to switch pulling suitcases with me or hoisting my cargo into overhead aircraft bins. Since he was stronger than I, and a gentleman to boot, I took full spousal advantage. “A happy traveler is a LIGHT traveler,” he would frequently intone, usually with gritted teeth. It wasn’t long before I began to feel guilty about my reliance on hubster’s schlepping strength and, over time, grew so exhausted by recurrent wardrobe paralysis that, finally, I committed to finding a more humane way for both of us to travel.

I succumbed to the socials and surfed Pinterest and YouTube. Site after site was devoted to minimalist wardrobes and packing light. I began studying this “practicality thing” with fervor. Given the glut of content on social media, many have also suffered alongside. We have shrugged tired shoulders only to check a bag in the interest of sanity and convenience. We have also solicited help from fellow passengers hoisting our personal anvils into overhead bins. But there is a more liberating way to traverse a destination, and I was determined to lead by example. (Another note to reader: There is nothing more annoying than a convert.)

I was especially motivated by the concept of packing for an entire month in a hand carry bag. The artful magic of capsule wardrobes along with creative packing techniques captivated me. I poured over packing videos like an addict. What emerged from this deep dive and overwhelm was a surprising truth: Owning less to pack less, can result, paradoxically, in more outfit choices than ever before. A sheepish start became, over time, a shameless evangelism for minimalist travel. 

A few domestic trips offered a trial of concept for a variety of climates. A Florida sojourn proved I could talk the talk, but a few indulgent shopping forays necessitated both the expansion feature on my case and full body weight to close it. And shipping a small overflow box home was a big red flag that I still had work to do. Another tarry included even more adventures from casual to upscale. This time I walked the walk, able to use my carry-on without deploying the gusset or having to physically lounge on it. Also, the absence of an additional shipping box meant I was clearly onto something. 

By the third trip my load was lightened even further by what little I took, what little I bought, and by avoiding additional closing force, or UPS. I was beginning to feel quite smug, and most notably, that I would not die by traveling with less. 

My final exam will be a 10-day to two-week journey somewhere once COVID is less of a burden. I endeavor to persevere in my packing prowess and enjoy having less travel inventory to manage enroute. Vacations are supposed to be fun, after all, and I am all for mental and physical freedom. Which is why my carry-on is now my BFF.