I hate packing.
The older I get, and the more dependents I add, I’ve found that I loath packing. Today, we’re leaving for a two week road trip. And as I sit here, staring down my giant pile of luggage and bags, I’m quickly realizing that I need to re-pack; which, in my opinion, is worse than packing.
I hate re-packing.
But what I despise most of all is the feeling of failure. I can’t find a few necessary items for our trip. Which never fails to make me feel like I am a horrible manager of my home. We’ve been redecorating and rearranging a few rooms…and I’m sure all these missing items have disappeared in the shuffle. So, I think that’s the contributing factor to my overpacking; I’m overcompensating for my lack of organization the last few month. Which is why I need to re-pack.
I hate losing things in my house.
When I finish re-packing, I have to search around the house for my missing items. However, I have this feeling that I won’t find everything before I leave. Who knows, maybe I’ll discover that tiny elves have searched all night while I was sleeping…and they found all my missing items and gently tucked them in my suitcase…and when I go to re-pack I will find them sitting amongst my unnecessary items. Maybe. Or maybe I will just have to leave without them. Which will irritate me.
There’s nothing like starting a vacation all irritated.
Maybe I should take a shower, drink some warm coffee while writing a blog about my bad attitude, and gain some perspective. That will cheer me up. Maybe packing isn’t so bad. Maybe re-packing can be an adventure in simplifying. Maybe losing things in my house can serve as an encouragement to actually finish my organization project. Maybe I should be grateful for the time I get to leave my house to be with the people that I love. Maybe I should realize that packing represents the beginning of an adventure.
I love packing.