french vanilla (extra extra)

The Art of the Pack

Tonight, I begin to pack for my vacation.

(And you thought this was a post about packs of animals. Fooled you, didn’t I?)

I don’t leave until Friday afternoon, but I always have to start packing two nights in advance.  Why?  Because I will unpack and re-pack my suitcase at LEAST 3 times after the first go-round.  I always start with the best intentions.  Truly.  I try to plan out my outfits, utilizing items that can be layered, similiar color palettes, etc.  But then there is that one shirt that I may REALLY want to wear.  And that pair of heels that I will only wear for about an hour, but they are just so damn cute.

And then it all goes to hell.

My bedroom turns into a rainbow-colored, sparkly, lace-ridden explosion, spattered with belts and necklaces and shoes.  There is no organization.  There is no method.  It is just like the latest issue of InStyle magazine threw up on my bed, if InStyle’s budget was under $20 per item and they had a weird affinity for Chuck Taylors and oversized earrings.

The other problem with the inital packing session (or Phase I, in this case) is that I always, always, always overpack.  Always.  I don’t overpack by MY standards.  What I consider reasonable, most major airlines will charge me for, because my suitcase is overweight.  (Who invented that 50 lb rule anyway?)

In an attempt to be frugal, I unpack everything I first had in my suitcase, and assess.  Am I really going to wear that shirt?  (If I was going to a swanky club, I would.)  Are those shoes really that practical?  (Of course not, but they are freakin’ CUTE, goshdarnit!)  Do I really need to pack my hairdryer, when the hotel will have one?  (My hairdryer ionizes.  I have no idea what that means, but it must be a good thing.)  I will justify pretty much everything in my suitcase.  Then I will take out one pair of jeans (because clearly, that will make a huge difference) and attempt to repack it.

Then it won’t zipper shut.

The inability to zipper shut, or as I like to call it, the Point of No Return (Phase 2), is the saddest part about packing.  It means I am forced, against my will, to actually take things out and therefore NOT bring them with me.  This means I have to actually weigh my options with pros and cons.  “This white top is so comfortable, but the black shirt I can wear day AND night,” or, “I can wear black all day, but I’m going to be in the sun, and white will be much cooler.”  This battle, too, wages on, until I’m finally forced to make a decision.  Usually because its 1 am and I still have to get to sleep and wake up the next morning and will probably repack it again.

Phase 3 is the worst of it all.  I become so disheartened by the whole ordeal, I begin to take pieces out all willy-nilly, with no real thought or consideration, just with the goal of getting it done so I can sleep in peace.  I’ll throw the discarded pieces into a pile on the floor, temporarily frustrated with their existence, until my suitcase, filled to the brim, will finally close.  I’ll go to sleep, resigned to the fact that as much as I would love to bring so many options with me wherever I may be going, the truth of the matter is, there is only so much space for polyester-cotton blend.

But then… then I remember:  I get a CARRY-ON.