Travel is Minimalism

The Squeaky Robot

To pack for a trip. The light-headedness of an anticipated reality coming to life. The beast stirs. To pack is to leave. You’re standing in your bedroom, but you are not there. You think of all the things you need, the layers, layers, layers with the cautious expectation of varied weather; the mini-everything: shampoo, deodorant, and notebook to scrawl vague but wise incoherencies that seem important in the moment; all the tech stuff you’ll want – beware! Everything has a charger. And so you’re not there. To pack is to empathize so deeply with a place that your vision is skewed and you’re suddenly on a foreign cobblestoned or muddy path, lemongrass nearby, needing a new memory card for a shot of the ancient woman sitting in a low window lined by purple Vanda. Note to self: bring memory cards.

People can become literally imprisoned by their material items, and…

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