Traveling Light: A Journey of Intentional Living
As I plan a trip to Europe this winter (2025) to celebrate my fiftieth birthday, I find myself measuring suitcases and shuffling through an array of hard shell and soft shell options in storage. Because we will be landing in Rome then traveling along the Mediterranean to cities like Sète, France and Barcelona, Spain, a medium-sized suitcase and one backpack will have to suffice—for 14 days.
After so much travel through the years, I've become a pro-packer despite destinations of varying climates and time zones. I've also become a packing minimalist with a capital M. I can pack a load of (preferred) black clothes by rolling each garment then stacking the rolls like chopsticks. I can puzzle together necessary hygiene products with luxury beauty creams in one small cosmetic bag without much fuss. I've even mastered the art of accessorizing—necklaces, earrings, scarves and belts—so one black turtleneck transforms into ten different looks.
And by default, every time I start packing for long trips with limited items, I think deeply about the things we carry in life. Why is editing out unnecessary people, places and things so trying, difficult and sometimes painful? Why does saying "no" seem like bad manners? (Particularly for those of us in the South.) And why can the weight of people's asks and expectations feel so overwhelming and disorienting? Why is it so tricky to travel light?
Over eight years ago, due to health reasons and an innate need for self-evaluation, I dialed in and pondered hard about what I was carrying around in life and why. My body kept score and simply could no longer hold the stress of so many people and things I was lugging around—some simply unnecessary, some intensely toxic. I eliminated alcohol and added therapy to start discerning what I could remove from life to make space for new things, new opportunities and sustaining peace.
With this work came painful and often misunderstood goodbyes. I no longer met friends for cocktails and politely declined invitations to downtown parties and galas. I spent most free time on a yoga mat or taking solitary walks throughout the quiet streets of downtown Charleston. I exchanged the busyness and buzz of Charleston's social scene for quiet coffee moments with close friends on a similar path. I started going to bed at 8:30 PM so I could wake at 4 AM to be on my yoga mat by 5 AM, then head to a juice bar to pick up nourishing drinks for the day.
Objects became less important, too. I sold artwork and books that no longer gripped my heart and captivated my mind. I donated most of my black suits and dresses to Goodwill, along with high heels, and integrated more relaxed designer denims, striped sweaters and comfortable sneakers. I burned so many documents, letters, personal photographs and memorabilia that I emptied entire trunks and drawers. It all felt liberating and freeing—I felt as light as a feather.
Most importantly, I began an amending process through letters, difficult conversations or simple texts with those I'd experienced conflict with or had hurt, albeit unintentionally, through time. Note by note, conversation by conversation, I began to forgive both the other person and myself, and just let that shit go. In doing so, I moved forward and traveled lighter with greater intention and focus.
When we travel by plane or train to familiar or unfamiliar lands, particularly on complex trips abroad over the course of weeks, we simply do not have the option to carry everything we think we might need. We must practice discernment, editing and curating, so we have what we need but only what we need. That is an art in itself.
In life, may we develop the same editing skills, learning to eliminate what we really don't need. May we learn the power of saying no—albeit politely—to committee meetings or social gatherings that do not serve us and simply waste our time and energy. May we edit thoughtfully so we can travel light and, therefore, be the happy, radiant person God created us to be.
