I’ve been doing the literal kind of packing — rolling clothes into tiny balls and hoping they won’t wrinkle. But it turns out that part of this process is a figurative unpacking — running into old boyfriends and sussing out unanswered questions.
In go the block-colored kitten heels. Out comes the confession that we cannot be friends. In go more scarves than socks. Out comes the bittersweet realization that one’s life might be better without a particular person in it.
Trying to unpack what’s been a year or six in the making mere days before taking off on a road trip is either brainless or brilliant. Unpacking emotions rarely seems to lighten the load. However, what putting it all out on the table does is allow me to see what I’m working with — in other words, to assess my current state of affairs. Pun (or not) intended.
And funny enough, the best way to pack — literally — is to unpack. To spread out everything I intend to take, from toothbrush to down jacket, and visually tetris it into my bags. Again starting with an assessment of what I have before reaching a conclusion about what to do with it.
So maybe this week and everything it brought me has been for the best.