By Icy Frantz
Clearly, my head is still stuck on vacation mode. Blame it on the fact that I am still catching up at my desk and doing laundry and attending to all of those things I ignored for two weeks this December while my family was on vacation. For the most part, I find the time after the new year fairly forgiving, and a slow start to the usual routine is almost to be expected. But, now that the boys are back to college and our daughter is studying for midterms, life seems to be moving forward, no matter if I am along for the ride or not.
As I finish unpacking the last of our bags, I am reminded of the childhood game, Grandmother’s Trunk, a simple game of memory and retrieval that has entertained my family on many long car rides over the years. And the game got me thinking about those items, both physical and emotional, that we take with us on any trip. “I packed my trunk, and in it I put…”
My husband is a bit of a drill sergeant when it comes to carry on, so I have dutifully learned to pack as little as womanly possible. I try to keep to one color scheme and pack sensible shoes that can be dressed up or dressed down. So, if you see me away on vacation, I will be the one dressed mono-chromatically in blue, or beige or black, sporting a Nike wedge hybrid on my feet. I have become quite efficient, tucking in my toiletry kit full of trial-sized cosmetics and 3.4 ounce bottles, and rolling silk tops to avoid wrinkles. And, I try to wear everything I bring at least once. In fact, the vacation losers are those untouched neatly folded items found in the bottom of my bag, alongside the dirty clothes that, at the very least, saw some action. The other losers are the pair of pants left behind in my drawer at home; the ones that would have been perfect for just about every outing, had I remembered to pack them.
My husband leaves a bag packed and ready to go in his closet. He likes to anticipate, similar to the spectator who arrives at the U.S. Open with his full tennis bag, anticipating, “Injury on center court. You in seat 5B, come on down.” He is ready with his carry on for the frigid temperatures of Antarctica or the warm sun of the Caribbean.
Oh, there is so much to be said about the baggage we carry or, more appropriately, the baggage with which we roll. For me, the baggage goes well beyond the physical and into the depths of the emotional. Some of it is hard earned, and if it doesn’t define us, it shapes and sometimes bruises us and stays close by, in the overhead compartment.
While away, I had lots of time to think. For starters, we had two very long plane rides and I was able to spend time deep in my thoughts, some happy and joyful and some annoying and unpleasant. I was thrilled to bask in the positive ones, about good friends and good memories and good moments that made me laugh. I was less thrilled to be in the company of the negative ones. There were scenes that I played over and over, reliving them on the plane and in the Savannah and in the streets of Cape Town, things I wished I had done differently, and words I wished to say or take back and complicated relationships that still needed work. I wanted to address these stowed away thoughts, packed in my brain as carry-on, and silently scream, “You can’t come with me. Go home.”
And being of sound mind, I can often push those unwanted thoughts to the side and return to my happy state, but sometimes those brain squatters aren’t easy to silence. When I fail at gently pushing or roughly shoving them out of range, I inevitably resort to some persuasive bargaining with these party crashers that goes something like this:
“Do we really need to do this now?”
“I promise to let you back in, when I get home.”
“Ok. Already. Let’s get this over with…”
Vacation is the perfect time to tackle some of the undesirables floating throughout the brain. In fact, time away often gives perspective, something I do not always find when I am going about my day at home. Through process, I can usually reach a truce, some clarity and peace of mind or a plan to tackle the unfinished business when I get home. My baggage becomes lighter; less taxing on my back and heart.
By the end of the trip, my carry-on is predictably a little more full. And, if my memory and retrieval skills serve me, I Packed My Trunk and in it I put a few souvenirs, a few gifts for the friends, toiletry samples from a hotel, a map of a city I particularly liked, well-worn clothes, a few untouched losers, my sensible shoes and something new that doesn’t fit into the color scheme which I am now utterly and completely sick of.
I have gained peace of mind and plenty of room to store the good memories. I have had long talks, inside my head, and have left those unpleasant trespassers behind with the warning: “It’s cold and drab at home. Stay on vacation.” Just maybe they will.
