By the time this reaches your inbox, I’ll be on my way to Edinburgh. It’s my first international trip in years, and everything I’m bringing fits in a 30-liter pack.
I usually pack the day before. This time I started the weekend before, laying everything out across my bed the way I always do. Part of me wondered if the extra time would invite extra things: a second sweater or another pair of shoes, just in case.
Nothing new went in. Years away, and I still knew exactly what I needed.
Everything Matches Everything
I don’t check a bag. When I land, the trip starts the moment I walk out of the airport, already moving, while everyone else is still watching the carousel.
Everything I wear is black, and has been since college. I liked how it looked on me, and it made laundry day simple. For the plane: dark jeans, a tee, a hoodie, and boots. In the bag: three black tops, a sweater, and pajamas (yes, also black). I make one decision, once, for five days. The jeans and boots do double duty, comfortable enough to walk in all day and good enough for dinner.
In all my years of travel, nobody has ever commented on wearing the same colors every day. Most people are too busy thinking about what they’re wearing.
The Deodorant Rule
My toiletry kit has gotten smaller with every trip. There’s a multi-purpose soap, sunscreen, and lotion transferred into a contact lens case, and a small electric toothbrush chosen because it fits a specific pocket.
One thing stays full-size: my deodorant.
I learned that one the hard way. I cut too far once, ended up buying a travel size at the airport, and turned out to be allergic. Settling for something that didn’t work for me cost more than the few ounces I saved.
So the rule became: smaller, unless it costs me something I’d miss.
This is the part people get wrong about enough. Enough was never the smallest possible number. It’s the amount that fits your life, and sometimes that means carrying a little extra weight on purpose.
The Possibles Pouch
Then there’s the possibles pouch, a small bag of things I might possibly need. It holds a first aid kit, a spare pair of contacts, a hotel sewing kit, a small bit of duct tape, emergency cash, and a spork, along with a few other small things.
Every item in it has a story. The first aid kit has handled plenty of little boo-boos. The sewing kit saved me when a button popped off mid-trip. The duct tape has held together a ripped bag and a shoe that fell apart. And the spork exists because I once sat down starving, excited to eat, with no cutlery in sight.
Scarcity packs for everything that might go wrong. Sufficiency packs for what has actually gone wrong, and trusts you to handle the rest.
Tokyo
It didn’t start this way.
My first international trip was to Tokyo, and my luggage was way too heavy. I had packed an outfit for every occasion I could imagine. Then I wore the same two on repeat the entire time.
Looking back, I hadn’t packed for Tokyo. I had packed for every version of Tokyo I was afraid of. Each extra outfit was a small vote of no confidence in the person who would be standing there, as if she couldn’t be trusted to figure it out.
That’s what I’ve come to believe about overpacking, in suitcases and everywhere else. The extra rarely has much to do with the trip. It has to do with how much we trust ourselves once we get there.
It took twenty-five years of traveling to get from that suitcase to this bag. Everything in it has earned its place across fifteen countries and thirty-eight states, on business trips and the ones I planned myself. Most of what I’ve tried along the way isn’t in here anymore. That’s the point. Nobody handed me this list. I built it one trip at a time, by getting it wrong first.
A Small Practice
Pick one place in your life where you’re carrying things “just in case.” It could be a closet, a calendar, a bag, or a commitment you keep saying yes to.
Choose one thing from it and ask two questions:
When did I last actually use this?
What would it cost me to let it go?
If you can’t remember the last time and letting go costs you nothing, you’re probably carrying it for a version of the future you’re afraid of. If you use it and losing it would cost you something real, that’s weight worth carrying. Keep it, without apology.
You don’t need to clear out everything this week. One thing is enough to start trusting yourself with less.
See you next week.
P.S. What’s the one thing you refuse to downsize, no matter how light you’re traveling? Hit reply and tell me. I’ll be reading from Edinburgh.