The thing about packing light is that, for better or for worse, you have limited options. Limited options can be frustrating, because you don’t always get exactly what you want.
There’s an incredible clarity of mind that comes to you when you leave everything comfortable behind.
Allison Vesterfelt, Packing Light
“Whatever you’ve packed, you’ve packed too much. Take about half of it out.”
Warwick, one of our pastors, said this to me the day before I left on my trip.
I didn’t believe him. That night I took out a couple of things, but decided that I couldn’t possibly live for 3 weeks without any of the items that remained in my backpack.
As my trip went on, I realized he was absolutely right.
Those can’t-live-without comforts merely turned out to be burdensome things I would have to stuff into my backpack at the end of each leg of the journey. I realized that in my insistence on holding onto familiar comforts, I ended up carrying so much unnecessary weight. I ended up unable to move freely and comfortably, and had left no room for new things.
I tossed two shirts in the bin before I left Rome, I left an old scarf in my Florence hostel bunk, and I gave one of my books to a sweet Chinese girl I met in Paris. I left several items in each place I visited, and each time I did I also felt a huge emotional burden taken off my shoulders.
Emotional baggage is so much harder to let go of than a couple of cute tops and accessories. Perhaps because we’ve learned to find a false sense of safety in fear, we forget the danger that lurks in stagnation.
I spent no more than 5 days in each town or city during my trip. And as I broke through my own barriers in Rome, I decided I’d step out in faith, in an area of my life that I am notoriously cautious about: dating. I had no time to overthink and overanalyze.
So I met 3 different men during my travels. There was Eduardo in Rome, Simone in Florence, and Philippe in Paris. One of the dates was lousy. One was pretty good. And one was magical.
He was a concert pianist. He was boring and spoke through his nose, and revealed a disturbing fetish for Asian girls as we sipped our coffee. In spite of me politely but firmly holding him at arm’s length, he tried to proposition me then got upset and rude when I gently declined. I ordered my decadent dessert to go, said goodbye, and ate it alone back at my hostel. It was delicious.
He was a jazz musician. He took me out for a nice dinner, and he pointed out several historical sites as we walked around the city centre. We had a long, intelligent conversation and he was a perfect gentleman. There were no fireworks, but I had a very nice time. At the end of the night, he walked me back to my hostel to make sure I got there safely.
He was a fellow Monty Python fan. He took me on a nighttime scooter ride through the cobblestone streets and we had pizza and tiramisu. He sang Brave Sir Robin at the table. Loudly. I rolled my eyes at his funny antics, cheesy lines, and sweet flattery…and yet found myself absolutely charmed. I normally abhor romance, but I allowed myself to enjoy it that night.
3 first dates.
I treasure the memory of each one – not because any of them led up to some cloyingly sweet happy ending, but because each encounter served as proof to myself that fear was and is a wasted emotion. Wisdom is good, and is from God. Fear is not!
Jesus says it over and over again in the gospels: Do not be afraid.
Let go of the baggage that weighs you down.
