Taking less
There was a phase in my 20s and 30s when I moved every 18 months. At the time I was living in DC, London and Amsterdam. I mostly lived in the smallest rented room in beautiful houses, flats and once a houseboat. I lived with other young professionals and self-employed bohemians. I didn’t own furniture and paid all house bills in one direct debit with rent.
I didn’t need furniture. I was out most nights on my bicycle at a preview, or a sweaty folk gig in a basement or dinner party where you had to sing for your supper with stories or gossip or ideas. I only required a small room to recover in on off nights and an interesting space to invite all the people I met for dinners and parties.
At that time, I could pack all of my belongings in a couple suitcases and boxes with a bike or two. It was stream-lined chaos controlled by a regular fresh start in a new space. In the final days before a move, I would settle in for a clear out. Turn up Radio 4 or some bands from college and get lost in memories, while ruthlessly throwing away everything that wasn’t useful to my fresh start. Stubs from the theatre and Spanish trains tickets. I keep a lot of maps - tourist office city or regional maps with handwritten notes, circles and traced routes. I couldn’t throw them out on the way to the airport; it seems too cruel to discard something so essential to the trip. I kept the shreds of paper knowing I would have to touch them again. And think about them again: the night, someone I met, or a town I visited and a feeling that I thought would help in some way. There are also stacks of bank statements, borrowed books and clothes that no longer work.
This purge was my process for keeping myself organised. I never knew what would happen if I stopped moving or merged my stuff and life philosophy on personal organisation with another human. They may not have a space for important, un-losable documents and passports in the bottom of their sock and underwear drawer. They might not understand my system for the very dirty laundry at the bottom of the basket vs the clothes draped towards the top that could go out for another rotation. I bet they would do too much laundry.
This life approach found me.
I always knew I was happier when I had less physical stuff to deal with. This is one reason I like traveling. I am sharper, clearer and more confident if I just have one bag. I can focus on important things like my route, finding the best experiences, reading my book and being curious about the person I’ve just met. There’s a lightness of life, when it’s pared back, that I only experience when traveling. I didn’t feel light when I returned to my stuff.
Now that life has grown, the stuff required to be responsible for these things has also increased. I’ve found comfort in our family home that I never expected, familiarity. But I feel more myself, a less burdened version of myself, when we pack small bags and leave for a couple weeks or months.
When packing I leave an open bag that collects stacks of dresses, swimsuits, socks, kids’ clothing and electronics for a week leading up to the trip. Then the night before, or to induce complete panic in my husband, the morning of: I edit out half of the pile, close the bag and walk out the door. I’ve never not brought enough - sometimes I forget things I meant to bring. But often, I wear the same things over and over. There tends to be an optimal outfit or two for what ever I’m doing, whether it’s cycling or work meeting, so why wouldn’t I wear that outfit? I don’t need any thing else. I come home with cloths I haven’t worn. Then I think, what a waste.