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.
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.