I’m sure this is a pretty common dream…that sweaty anxiousness of showing up in your classroom and realizing you had no idea there was going to be a exam, and knowing too, that you have no idea what they’re talking about. Or getting to your locker and failing to know the combination. Or realizing you’re naked in a crowd. Or running in that molasses-slow-motion-dream-running for a bus or a plane or train and arriving as it pulls away.
They are all nightmare-variations on that age-old anxiety of feeling ill-prepared.
It’s one of the reasons I tend to steer clear of early morning flights. Even if I set alarm or two, I have restless dreams of running for (and just missing) the plane or half-awake-nightmarish-visions of forgetting my luggage or passport or…
Again, it’s all based on fear of not being prepared.
To a lesser degree, I think the issue I have with packing falls along the same continuum; a form of worrying about being ill-prepared.
I leave Sunday for my trip as a guest of South Africa Tourism.
I know what I want to achieve – I want to have the exact right item for the each specific occasion. Then I ramp the stakes up a little higher, declaring that not only does it have to be the right stuff, it also has to be very edited so that it all fits into a carry-on bag.
I have received my schedule and itinerary. Aside from looking it over to make sure all the dates and flights line up, I default to my usual modus operandi for any trip. That is, I never add up the hours of transit time. I’d rather not know.
I do know that I leave on the 12th and get to the actual beginning of the trip on the 14th. Considering there are no hotels in between, one can safely assume that there is a lot of planes and airports and ongoing travel time. To me, this translates to needing one perfect travel outfit that will carry me through all those hours.
When you throw in the actual trip requirements of dressing for safari, cool nights, zip-lining, horseback riding, a gorge swing (?!?) fancy dining, walking, touring, and chi-chi hotels, that little carry-on feels a little teeny. But like the spy with his hidden cyanide suicide pill, I have a backup plan. There is another bag waiting in the wings…it’s comforting to know it’s there. I know this blog is called Traveling Light. I know that. But still, it’s nice to know that bag is waiting…just in case.
I’m working through it. It’s only Wednesday. There’s still lots of time to figure it out.