I spent the weekend away at camp with the Texas Style Council. Knowing the vibe would be low key with an agenda focused on content, there was no room for frivolity, just creation and planning. Only the essentials were needed, plus a few back up items, and yet I packed … a lot.
Thank goodness we each had our own corners in our cabin rooms. With three roommates, I thought, Alright, I will keep my shiz in order. I will not make a mess. There is no reason to have to throw things here there and everywhere…. and yet… I did. Of course I couldn’t find my flashlight without pulling out all of my t shirts. Naturally I had all of my toiletries packed in my compartmentalized vanity kit, yet the pot of gloss I wanted was at the bottom of my hand carry: under the jacket, beneath the books, nested between charging cords, next to my Popchips bag that had lost all of its ‘pop’. It was as if I’d packed breadcrumbs as a snack.
At yoga early the first morning, I remembered folding my yoga top and pants together, but I couldn’t see them in the dark. So I had to feel my way through my suitcase, because you know I had already misplaced the flashlight I’d recovered the night before. So I pulled, and dumped and quietly emptied things into the first of many give away totes. Perfect, I said to myself, this is just like being at home, throwing all of my shiz inside bags until I can get back to them. Scrounging around in the dark gives one the visibility similar to wearing a garbage bag over her head, so I forgave myself for getting half of the items in the bag while the rest of it rolled under my roommates’ bed. At least nobody will step on it, I rationalized.
The weekend was so fun. I learned so much. But this post isn’t about me discussing inspiration and take aways from Texas Style Council (aka camp) just yet. This post simply addresses my inability to pack (and unpack) like an adult. This is nothing new. Case in point, at ALT SUMMIT 2014 thank goodness I had a suite to myself. How else does one explain this hurricane (click here) to her roommates?
On Sunday I came home with … more. Once I opened my suitcase to unpack this morning, it threw up. My suitcase projectile vomited my laundry, little gifts, books, my heating pad, shoes, vanity case, protein bars, Girl Scout cookies, swag, what have you, all over the floor.
And there it lays still. Spilled over and not moving. Now I have the fun task of picking it all up and figuring out where to put what. The reason people are sad at the end of a weekend trip is not only because they have a hang over from the fun and festivities.
It’s because they don’t want to unpack.