Sadie shrugged. Nah,that was it. Said she’d been mining stuff that was still stashed in her old Brunswick house. Otherwise,she’d just rotated clothes.
Our baggage,I’ve come to realise,comes in all shapes and sizes.Getty
“Anyway,you should be rapt. You taught me to always pack light,Ma.”
Physically packing light is one of my few life skills. Hand luggage for six weeks in Europe decades before carry-on was all the rage post-COVID. Weekend in Hobart with knickers,a top and a Kindle shoved in an emerald tote. No weight of fashion decisions or giant bags.
Right now,at a weird time when some of life’s underpinnings are in flux – story for another day – my mission is to avoid preoccupations about the past or anxieties about the future by also trying to pack light in a metaphysical sense.
To box-up emotions or yearnings that feel disruptive or dangerous. To keep it simple,to eat and sleep and move properly and do paint by numbers and hack at the passionfruit vine in the sun and read thrillers.
Life,of course,boils down to a series of finds and losses. We lose faith. Our marbles,money,eyesight. Youth. Our way. Keys,direction,impetus,belief. Beloveds.
Right now,the royal family is losing its lustre thanks to staff shortages. Barnaby Joyce has lost booze. Two Sydney families have lost sons in a hideous way. Bradley Cooper has plain lost it,crying in a lame video over missing Leonard Bernstein despite having never met the composer.
The stuff we find is generally better. Joy,partners,happy places. Inspiration,pens that work,clean tea towels,challenges,horizons,courage. We find purpose,ways to opportunity. Sometimes even serenity.
Kicking out intangibles feels self-consciously woo-woo,but woo-wooers have it that embracing minimalism in thought lets you focus on what’s really important. So I’m trying to stay in the dreaded moment and yeah,I agree in this moment I’m becoming a cliche.
One friend annually combs her contacts and deletes anyone who isn’t pulling their weight in the relationship or is boring. Another recommends the yearly wardrobe clean-out,says letting go of material possessions and “ego-driven desires” – new name for the vintage YSL sandals – promotes a sense of inner freedom.
Which is how I found myself in the walk-in robe,planning to detach from external validation by culling clothes.
Hopeless. For every Lee Riders denim blazer and Perri Cutten 1990s leather jacket on the “out” pile,there were multiple things on the “keep”. Mum’s jersey halter-neck maxi from nearly 50 years ago,the dress Sadie sewed me for Christmas when she was little,both my wedding dresses.
Turns out I’m not someone who can ditch sentimental things. Wedged between my grandmother Neita’s hats in a box,a sheaf of letters tied with a glittery shoelace. All from the late 1980s,from my first love Paul.
One that found me in Germany,when I was overseas most of 1988,was creased,read so many times.
“Got your letters,read them with hunger. Stared at the pics,wondering although she looks the same,who is she now? I decided I wanted to be a kite and wished I could fly away to be with you.
“I lay on my back in a park with the string’s end tied and tugging at my belt as fat rain dropped on my face. The kite of course,a la Charlie Brown,got stuck in a tree.”
When I married at 24,I asked my mother if I should throw out Paul’s letters. No way,she said. He’s a big part of your history. Of who you are. You must honour that. Keep them,always.
Maybe it’s harder to lose things,to travel light,than it seems.
Kate Halfpenny is the founder of Bad Mother Media.
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