This morning, I woke up determined, knowing it was time to face the inevitable…packing. It’s never a task I look forward to, but it always signifies that another chapter of our world travels is about to begin. I started early, methodically folding and organizing all my clothes, leaving out only what I’ll wear on boarding day. Each item felt like a small piece of my nomadic life, a collection of memories from so many places we’ve called “home,” even if only temporarily. By mid-morning, I had neatly stacked the neatly folded clothes into my suitcase, feeling that quiet relief that comes when the bulk of the job is finally behind me.
All that remains now are the small but time-consuming things: the supply bag, a few kitchen items, and our toiletries. Those always take more effort than expected, with so many little decisions: what to keep out until the last minute, what to tuck away now, what we might suddenly need again before we leave. Over the next few days, I’ll chip away at it all, bit by bit, until everything has a place. That’s the secret to managing these constant transitions: staying organized and refusing to let the process overwhelm us.
Packing may not be fun, but we’ve learned how to make it efficient. After all these years, we’ve developed our own rhythm, our unspoken teamwork. When flying, as opposed to sailing, I fold while Tom checks weights, tucking the scale under each bag, calling out the numbers. We shuffle items back and forth until we’re comfortably under the airline’s limit. It’s a bit of a dance, but we’ve become experts at it. Everything goes neatly into its designated bag, and when it’s all zipped up and stacked by the door, I always feel a quiet sense of accomplishment, like we’ve conquered another small hurdle on this never-ending journey.
This time, with our two new suitcases, we’re slightly ahead of the game. They’re sturdy and spacious, rolling smoothly across even the roughest tiles. We also have one additional extra-large bag for the 47-night cruise, a practical solution for the constant unpacking and repacking we’ll do while living aboard the ship. It’s amazing how quickly a cabin can feel like home once everything is tucked neatly away in drawers and closets. Cruise lines have no restrictions on the number or weight of bags.
Still, in the back of my mind, I can’t help but think about December 13, the day we’ll have to fly to New Zealand from our disembarkation location, Brisbane, Australia. That date hovers like a distant checkpoint, a reminder that no matter how well we pack now, we’ll soon face the same challenge again, but with the added dilemma of airline baggage fees. After a long cruise, our belongings always seem to multiply, although we don’t buy souvenirs or trinkets.
That’s the nature of living without a permanent home. Everything we own must fit into our suitcases and travel with us from one continent to the next. There’s no closet somewhere waiting for our return, no basement filled with storage bins. It’s both freeing and challenging at once. Sometimes I miss the luxury of “extra space,” but there’s something deeply satisfying about knowing that everything important fits into just a few bags. It keeps life simple, and it keeps us moving forward.
As I looked around the apartment this afternoon, my clothes packed, I felt that familiar sense of excitement. Each time we pack, we close a small chapter of our story, but another adventure always awaits just beyond the next boarding gate or, in this case, the ship’s gangway. And with everything packed neatly and ready to go, I can finally let myself feel that anticipation again.
Shortly, I’ll head to the kitchen to put together the chicken salad we’ll eat over the next three dinners. Yesterday, we peeled all the boiled eggs and diced the onions. Now, all I have to do is make the dressing and stir it well. It will be a pleasant day.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, October 24, 2015
