Pack Light

"Well, at least you packed light!"

That is the phrase I hear every time someone sees my luggage for the first time. They are invariably being sarcastic.

I'm the sort of person who loathes being unprepared because I loathe being uncomfortable. I can handle outright pain, but being uncomfortable (whether physically or socially) is just the worst. I can embrace abject misery, take a sort of masochistic joy in it. "Yes," I tell myself, "everything about this is terrible. This blistering heat and that person unjustly yelling at me and the horrible stabbing of my broken ankle are awful. I will dine out on this story for years."

Discomfort gives me none of the satisfaction of having endured suffering or telling the elaborate tale of said suffering. No one leads off at a party with, "I have to tell you about the time my shoe rubbed a blister on my heel and I had to listen to country radio for a whole half hour." No one looks back at the time she was bitten by at least three separate mosquitoes while being underdressed for the company and thinks, "Ah, what a worthy foe I have overcome." There's no fun in discomfort like there can be in pain.

The best way to avoid discomfort while away from home is to be relentlessly, perfectly prepared. That requires a lot of things, and they do not all fit into one bag the size of a border collie. Emergency snacks of both the sweet and salty variety. Clothes and shoes for entering nice restaurants with one's head held high. Clothes and shoes for hiking over rough terrain, should adventure be called for. Tops for every kind of weather. Regular clothes. Extra underwear. Umbrella. Caffeine. The beloved flannel blanket I've slept with in some variation since I was a tiny little girl. Music player, phone, laptop, and associated chargers. Pajamas for too-cold or too-warm hotel rooms. Makeup for every day. Makeup in case I need to look cool. A detailed plan for every day (with spontaneity scheduled in). Directions. Maps. Reading material. Nail clippers. I may not need all of these things, but I might need some of them, and what if I decide not to pack them and then I do need them? I could end up uncomfortable, and I hate that.

My boyfriend, Zach, will leave town for a week with his friends carrying three t-shirts, three pairs of boxers, two pairs of socks, and no soap or toothbrush because, and I quote, "I'm not trying to have sex with any of them." He can be comfortable nearly anywhere. My father is like that, too - more dedicated to brushing his teeth than Zach is, but he can fall in with a group of people and never once worry about what they think of him. It seems to come from a kind of fearlessness, a general confidence that yes, what I am doing is right and proper and should some silly person decide to judge me for that it will affect me not at all.

I'm going to try to capture a little of that spirit on the adventure. Some things (snacks and my blanket, for instance) are non-negotiable. But I can take a little less makeup this time, and maybe the laptop can stay home. I can take just one jacket, and don't worry about if it matches the outfit or not. Trust that everything's going to work out. Pack light.

...but I'm still going to plan the shit out of it. My trust only goes so far.