Everything but the kitchen sink

When going on trips, I used to pack everything but the kitchen sink.  I don’t know why exactly.  I think it’s some kind of compulsion related to my incipient OCD.  Since I deal in metaphors, I’ll liken my suitcase to a kangaroo pouch: a safe, secure place in which to incubate oneself that’s one step away from the womb.  My first trip overseas, when I was in my thirties, I packed enough stuff to permanently relocate to London.  I had a full set of luggage and, believe me, every suitcase got used.

Eventually I realized it was less about being a fashionista on the go and more about my need for nesting.  Also, I think the various times I threw my back out from lifting said suitcases had something to do with my decision to ditch the set of matched luggage in favor of a single suitcase.    Nowadays, I pack as light as possible for every trip.  My makeup bag, underwear & nightgown, one dress that can be accessorized to make several outfits, jeans and a pair of dressy slacks, a few tops and/or sweaters, (plus layers if the weather at my intended destination is iffy).  That’s it.  Jewelry is whatever I’m wearing (always gold, which doesn’t set off the airport metal detector).  Shoes are one pair of walking shoes and one pair of dress shoes; both must be comfortable.  Even with so few clothes, I invariably return at the end of the trip with one or two items unworn. 



   
Packing itself is now a breeze.  This morning, packing for my trip to Savannah (a much-needed getaway with my hubby), I literally threw a few things in a suitcase and was done. The kitchen sink stays home. 

If only life were as easy… 

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