I’m not quite sure why it is, but for as much as I love travelling, I sure f*cking hate packing my bag to do so. It’s the most evident contradiction in my life.
I’ve literally been known to waste hours just staring at an empty suitcase surrounded by clothing that could potentially be nestled sweetly inside. The clothes that are going to show up in pictures from far-off lands. The clothes that will keep me warm or cool depending on the climate. The clothes which most societies have deemed “necessary.”
All that ever seems to keep me from my travels is one sleep and that blasted empty bag.
Perhaps it’s my perpetual fear that I’ll forget something and find myself kicking past-me in the butt for waiting so long to pack thus forgetting one piece of clothing that I didn’t even know I wanted to bring in the first place. Or maybe it’s because I like to cut things so close to the wire (if you didn’t know that about me based on when these blogs get posted each day, you haven’t been paying attention). Either way, I’m very rarely motivated to pack my bags until the last chance I have.
And maybe there are worse contradictions that will become evident in my life in the next 60 years, but for now, I’ll just be happy that I need to catch a plane tomorrow and it only took me five hours from start to finish to pack my damn bag.