I decided to start packing earlier than usual, because I was not really looking forward to it. I arrived in Japan with a full suitcase, and now after buying a lot of things… I knew it was going to be a challenge to repack. I started, but soon ended up sitting on my bed with my belongings surrounding me. You know the feeling. In the middle of doing a big spring clean, and you realise half way that you are not up to the task. That’s what it felt like. My apartment had become a mess, and it was not a mess that I wanted to deal with. I started to procrastinate, until I remembered all of those times before when I would be packing at the last minute. The anxiety from even remembering those moments drove me to take a deep breath and just get on with it. Soon enough, I got stuck into it. Packing is one of those strange things… at the start I don’t feel like it, but after a while it becomes like a puzzle that I feel motivated to solve.
I start, I reach a dead end and then the ideas begin to circulate through my mind. On this particular occasion, I packed quite easily… which was a relief. Until I saw that my bag carried much less weight than I wanted it to. That would have to be a first. Usually I am struggling to stay under, but this time I had a whole 10kg to spare but no space in the bag to put it. The particular luggage bag that I chose is a medium size one, that is probably only built to carry 20kg, but I needed to pack a little more into it in order to make my plane transit journey a lot lighter. I wasn’t willing to buy a bigger suitcase in order to easily pack more things because… well, this is a little weird, but I really love this suitcase. It’s good looking, and I bought it in my hometown and I remember picking it out. Long story short, I needed to find another way to fit more in without stressing the bag out too much. That’s when my mind cast back to the last few days of packing and re-packing my backpack while travelling around the north of Japan.
Each time I repacked my backpack, it seemed to have more space – even though I wasn’t carrying any less. In fact, I was carrying a little more each time. I realised that the way in which I packed the bag really mattered, and if I was too lazy in my packing strategy then I wouldn’t be maximising the space fully. I thought that I’d learned all that there was to packing in all my years of travel, but it seems I could still learn a little more. I unpacked everything and started again, but this time I folded my clothes in a slightly different way. Filling all the spaces I could find. It didn’t take long before I realised that I could pack more in, without stretching the seams, and then I’d be able to move around the transit lounge easily. It’s amazing… how much potential we have under our noses sometimes, and we don’t even know it. It’s probably not a mistake that I discovered new ways of maximising space while living in Japan.
Packing never fails to teach me about life, although honestly I won’t miss it once I’m settled down. It always reminds me of how I am trying to pack too much into a space that at first appears too small. My previous solution was always to let things go, to reduce the amount that I carried and live a little lighter. But this day, I thought – what if I simply packed a little smarter? Just like I did when I was travelling between Akita and Tokyo… perhaps my bag, or perhaps my life, can carry a little more than I originally thought it could. Instead of forcing myself into sacrifice too quickly, I could take a different perspective on my own capacity. I am sure that I have mentioned this before, but it always reminds me of a billboard that I saw one time in Hong Kong: Never underestimate the space you have. I think I am only beginning to understand these words, many years later.
It’s this change in perspective that seems to have opened doors for me recently. Whenever I have dreams or desires, a little voice comes in very soon after and warns me: what if this doesn’t go right? What if there is a problem? What plan do you have in case something goes wrong? I see now that I’ve been spending far too much time focusing on these questions, and much less time even acknowledging that I could ask a different set of questions: what if my dreams could come true? What if I have everything I need? What if I am good enough? What if it all works out for me? As it turns out, using a slightly different strategy and taking a little more time to consider packing… it seemed like I had achieved the “impossible.” I managed to pack more in and relieve myself of the back pain that would have eventuated from dragging my backpack around in Changi Airport.
I realise what I’ve suspected for a while, which is that I’ve perhaps been a bit too enthusiastic to throw things away and lighten my load. Perhaps I am losing out a little on the joy that making space for things brings into life. My mind turns to the little curry restaurant under the stairs of Shin-Yurigaoka Station. If someone didn’t think to put a little restaurant there… there would simply be an empty space. No one would think twice about it. But now, there is a little, magical place there. All because one person decided that they would take the effort to make space for something. Perhaps it was not something that we necessarily needed, but it was something that brings a lot of encouragement and smiles to others to this day. But maybe we need to sacrifice a little in order to appreciate the joy of possession, even if that possession is temporary. It may be the possession of material things, a relationship, a house, a business… it’s temporary, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t appreciate the joy that comes from thinking that it might be around forever.
This makes me realise… maybe it’s not about letting go of things, or letting go of our attachment to things. That would only be a way to avoid disappointment and pain. Maybe all this packing is teaching me that it’s safe to enjoy things in the moment, and let go of the outcome. For now, I can enjoy all that I carry with me… and I can make space for it. This moment will only come once, and these things that I’ve bought will only be around for a certain period of time. Sometimes forcefully letting go of something is the same thing as holding onto it very tightly. It’s motivated by the same fear that enters your mind every time something good happens: that we might lose it and feel pain as a result of that. But that’s life. If I have survived, and indeed if my life has been enriched by, the good as well as the bad – then what do I have to fear? I can take the risk of protecting the things which give myself or others joy, and consider that something which I may have originally thought to be a burden… is actually a wonderful gift.
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