Pack It Up, Pack It In. Let Me Begin.

Packing.
I’ve been packing all my life.
In boxes. Duffle bags. Suitcases. Plastic totes. Paper bags. Lunch bags. Hiking packs and backpacks. Purses and pockets. Trash bags, trailers and trunks.

It started first with sleep overs.
Escalated with every other weekend and Wednesday nights.
I pulled things together for vacations and trips.
For school and dance class.
In the fall and again in the spring.
From cabin to cabin and house to house.
From tent to mountaintop.
Across the country and over the oceans.
In fact, packing has become my permanent.

I’m quite proficient at this routine.

Choose versatile combinations.
At least one good book.
Quickly run through your possible activities.  Choose shoes accordingly.
Just keep all personal hygiene products forever in one bag.  And on the off chance that you happen to leave your deodorant on the sink, you’ll only smell bad for a time.  Unless of course you keep your lavender oil in that toiletry bag and your sandalwood in your purse.  Which of course you do, so no worries.
Always pack extra underwear.  You just never know.
Dental floss and a little toothpaste can cover a multitude of forgetting that toothbrush after a last minute brushing.
Simplify.  See the first piece of advice. And notice the quantity of bag in line four.  Add small to that.
Roll.  Not fold, roll.
Don’t neglect the power of the extra pockets.  Use them wisely.

Despite my perceived packing prowess, I have come to loathe this routine.  It is a necessary evil in the game of life. True, it doesn’t usually take me very long, but I despise it all the same.  My least favorite part of the travel process to be sure.

I’ve spent way to many late nights stuffing bags and boxes.  I’m getting better at preemptively packing, which may really speak of my mastery of this routine, as I am often a procrastinator.  Add that to the list: Don’t wait until the last minute. Packing sucks anytime you do it, but the suckfest is only magnified when you feel exhausted and rushed.

Packing represents the end.  The end of a week.  A party with friends.  A vacation. A semester. A job. The end of a season. The end of relationships. The end of something.

As I tucked the last corner under the first, I thought about the loss.  The end.

And also the beginning.  Because while packing represents the end, it also represents a beginning.  The beginning of the next week.  A different party.  A new adventure. Another semester. A new job. The start of a new season.  The beginning of relationships.  The start of something.

The box I just taped up isn’t going to sit closed forever.  It’s going to get hoisted down after a time.  Tape ripped open and contents sorted through. The bag will get emptied and filled again soon. It’s a continuous action.  A perpetual movement, a continual metamorphosis.

Because the contents of bag I packed for that first sleep over doesn’t look the same these days.  Those footie pajamas wouldn’t fit anymore.  And it’s a different bag anyway, if we’re getting into specifics.

As time goes on, some things get carried over, some left behind. I happen to pick up a new shirt and leave an old pair of tennis shoes. Some sand or a rock or two hop on board and a million socks and a billion hair ties seem to get lost along the way.

Sure, the transition is sometimes tiresome, but I need to learn to love packing.
For one thing, it keeps me from ending up with a bunch of useless crap.
But it also helps me sift and sort.  Reorder and reorganize.  It forces me to evaluate what I really need and what I could and should do without. See what I’ve gained and recognize what I’ve shed.

Packing allows things to end, in order that new things can begin.