when i was a little girl, we traveled a lot. and i don’t mean, a weekend at six flags kind of traveling. i mean the kind where you put two months’ worth of clothes in a suitcase and drive around greece, or shove all your worldy posessions into enormous room-sized crates and move clear across the ocean.
starting at about ten, i was entrusted to pack myself for vacations. i would often get so excited about it that i’d pack a full week ahead of time, carefully arranging my clothes in piles whose attributes were decipherable only to me. i’d arrange, stand back, observe, close in for a small adjustment, scrap the whole thing and start again. i was the picasso of packing. it was always as much fun as the trip itself.
last night i organized a list of everything i am taking to england – on the computer. clothing was separated into lists based on category: shoes, pants, shirts. then the list was further subdivided into plausible outfits. with the advent of technology, i can stand back, observe the patterns, and swoop in for minor readjustments. those slides? no. they won’t coordinate with enough. let’s try the slingbacks instead. can that tee shirt fit into the pants schemes? alright, it’s a go.
tonight, the tasks became more concrete. skirts with tricky pleats were ironed. shoes were polished. a purse was carefully shopped for and selected at a bang-up bargain price. vaccuum-pak suitcase bags were tested and approved for space-conservation. preliminary toilettries were set aside. tomorrow and wednesday’s outfits were selected, tailored to not use any clothes being taken on the trip. books were promised from friends. tylenol PM was set aside for tomorrow’s assuredly restless night.
then the more personal preparations were made. feet were exfoliated and toenails were trimmed, buffed and painted. cuticles fell victim to a superb cream after being soaked in warm milk-bath water. there may or may not have been a face mask and some detailed attention to pores. a last-minute list is stuck to my door – new razors, a sunglass repair kit, H20 spray for the plane.
surveying my handiwork spread out neatly on my bed before moving it carefully to the trunk until its final packing tomorrow night, i had to stop and ask myself if i had gone completely insane. who cares what i’m wearing or if my pores are visible from outer space? wasn’t this all very self-absorbed and frivolous? isn’t it the journey, not what you’re wearing and whether your shoes have the appropriate high shine, that matters?
sure, what matters is the getting there and the being there, not how well-turned-out or prepared you are. but when i step out of the apartment, i’ll still get a thrill from a job well done, just like i did when i was little. packing always meant Something Exciting was about to happen. it still does.
i may have exchanged jellies for kitten-heel slingbacks, roald dahl for zadie smith, greece with my parents for england with my darling. i don’t even fit snugly asleep in two seats anymore. and jetlag actually catches up with me at twenty-three. but the thrill of packing is still the preview for the thrill of the new. and insofar as the well-traveled life is an art form, it’s nice to know i’m still the picasso of travel.