“Don’t forget to pack your courage for your journey to greatness.”
Before traveling, I put off packing until the last possible minute. I’m not great at it, and the fear that I might forget something juxtaposes with the dread of carrying excess along with me. When we were in the vagabond phase of our life, Carla, my bestie-and-a-half, packed my bags for me more than once, giving instruction to my eyes-glazed-over self. I handed her the things she determined I’d need without question, grateful for her quickness in decision making.
It was a simple way for her to love me, but it felt profound to have someone essentially hold my hand through a task that ought not be so overwhelming. It is to me, and Carla understood. It wasn’t to her, so she took care of it.
My friend Heather did the same thing for me last time I went to Africa. Because of the nature of that trip, the likelihood of forgotten items really overwhelmed me that time around. While I was planning the trip, I mentioned to her that Carla had helped me in the past. I told her of my packing difficulties. She offered to help.
Tonight my boyfriend and I packed boxes in my sister Bridget’s kitchen. She’s moving in April, and her whole house needs to be boxed up. As we sorted linens and stacked Tupperware into boxes I remembered the times Carla and Heather helped me prepare for trips. I thought about how rather than telling me to get over myself in regards to my (silly) packing shortcomings, they offered to help. In doing so, they showed me love. I think in my busyness I often fall short being present like that when someone I love has a need, but man, I want to be that kind of friend.