It’s Friday, the weekend, and I should be looking forward to a two-day break. And I am. Except that this weekend will – must – be filled with one of my least favourite activities: packing. This time I’m packing for a two week trip in a country I’ve spent hardly any time, in another hemisphere and therefore season. And it’s hot there. It has been years since I worked in a properly hot summer (Korea doesn’t count – it wasn’t proper hot). I have been buying bits and pieces of clothing I might need on and off for weeks. I still need some shoes. I’ll have to get them today after work. I really hope I can find some that are nice and not too expensive but I’m sceptical – just a few weeks too early for the summer stock to be in.

Then of course there is the question of the bag. My small, cabin-luggage sized suitcase is in the Eastern Cape, so no chance to get that before I leave. I was thinking of taking a backpack, but it’s a US flight, so they’re particularly fussy about what you can put in your  carry-on luggage. I’d have to check it in. And the backpack doesn’t always stay closed. So, a big suitcase. But it feels so silly to pack into a big suitcase. This is the suitcase I packed my whole life in to go to Korea for a year. My life fitted in that suitcase, surely it is too big for two weeks.

So perhaps I will take it mostly empty. Plenty of space for souvenirs. At least, if I was someone else. I’m sure I won’t be able afford many souvenirs in dollars (sigh – third world currency). Plus, it’s a business trip. Not that I won’t do any exploring – I’m not going to waste a 20-hour flight – but most of the time will probably be spent in a hotel conference centre.

I hope not all of the time. As I frantically make lists of what I still need to buy and what I can’t forget to pack, I find myself pausing every now and then, with glee if I’m honest, in anticipation of nearly two weeks in the hot.

I hate packing. I hate packing because I’m scared I’ll leave something behind. And what if it gets cold? And what if I suddenly need to dress up for some reason and I don’t have heels? What about shoes? I’m pretty sure that I want to take my boots but should I also have takkies? And what if I suddenly wake up one morning and feel like wearing a dress?

These thoughts swirl and whirl and gnaw at me from the moment I start thinking about packing. Nothing like this has every happened to me. I’ve travelled a lot, on various kinds of trips and I don’t think there has ever been a time when I’ve used everything in my suitcase and wanted more. I really hate it. Without fail, at least once during the packing process, I’ll throw my hands up in the air and decide it’s not worth it and I’m staying home instead!

Of course, I know rationally that I love travelling, so I push through and I’m always much calmer once the packing is done. So where does this irrational hatred of packing come from? I suppose it is possible that I project all my worries about the rest of the trip onto packing. Any unspoken fears about plane crashes or violence or terror attacks, any low-level anxiety that travelling might be lonely or the trip won’t live up to my expectations are projected onto packing.

And then comes the moment where nothing fits or I’ve forgotten to pack toiletries or it all fits comfortable but the bag is too heavy to lift. I have another little terror – of luggage being overweight for a flight. It’s never actually happened but it bothers me whenever any travel might possibly involve a plane. But not enough to make me pack less because there is the other thing about having forgotten something I might need. And so it goes around and around. Even when I’m just going to visit my sister for a week and so can probably borrow anything I’ve forgotten.

Ultimately, it is probably functional and maybe even efficient to hate packing rather than, say, being terrified of flying. I love planes, adore trains, like buses; I sleep fairly comfortably in just about any environment and I have grown to enjoy new and unusual tastes and textures (provided they’re not still moving). If anything is going to make me panicky, I’d rather it was the packing.

It still sucks though. I’m roughly a week away from heading to Namibia and this time I’m attempting to pack far in advance so that the trauma is all gone by the time I leave. We’ll see how that works out. Maybe it’ll be the solution. Maybe I’ll have a minor panic the night before I go and unpack everything and start again. Personally, I wouldn’t put money on the former. Maybe I’ll just have to get used to the fact that hating packing is the necessary evil that lets me get on my way and explore the wonderful world beyond my door.