We’re travelling to the Philippines today. Last night at 1am, having put it off all day, we finally finished packing.

While travelling usually excites me, the process of packing in some ways always depresses me. I sit, surrounded my bags and boxes and clothes and wires, and half of me thinks “what on earth do I need all this stuff for?” I have too much. I live in a world of extreme plenty. I decide if I want to take a pair of Levi jeans or North Face cargo pants. I um and ah over whether I’ll “need” that pair of shoes. Part of me wants to throw it all away to make life simple and just take one change of clothes and a toothbrush.

But then there’s another, more subtle perhaps, longing in me to have more. More security, more choice, more space... I want to feel established, to not have to keep moving and travelling. I yearn to unpack once and for all, and make my pretty little house as warm and lovely as can be. And while I’m dreaming of this serene, blissful establishment, I know that as soon as I had unpacked and settled down, my feet would be itching to move on again!

So I sit, surrounded by my bags and boxes and clothes and wires... I put on my ritual packing music (most often I start with September by Earth, Wind and Fire) and throw things unthoughtfully into a bag, praying that I haven’t forgotten anything and that we won’t be over our weight limit...

Bon voyage.