Packing Light, Living Light

Summer is a season of movement — of packing bags, setting out, and chasing the kind of light we sometimes miss in the rhythms of everyday life.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about what it means to pack light — not just for a trip, but for this season of life. What we choose to carry with us — and what we intentionally leave behind — shapes far more than the weight of our suitcases. It shapes the weight of our hearts and the emotional capacity we have to build a beautiful life.

The Carry-On Lesson

Last week, I packed a carry-on suitcase for our six-day trip to the Bahamas. I had carefully planned what to bring — a small capsule wardrobe that could mix and match easily, several bathing suits and cover-ups, a couple of pairs of shoes, a first aid kit, a phone charger and portable charging block, microfiber beach towels, a couple of books, and my quart-sized liquids bag. I felt great about the list.

But as I started to pack, I realized I hadn’t gone small enough. The suitcase was fuller than I expected. So I culled again — layering and laying things out on my bed, making one hard decision after another. Do I really need three “just in case” t-shirts? Will I wear this extra dress? Is it worth the space?

At first, it was uncomfortable to let go of the “just in case” items. But the more I pared down, the lighter I felt — not just physically, but mentally, too.

And here’s the truth: once we were on the trip, I didn’t miss a single thing I’d intentionally left behind. If anything, I felt more free — less encumbered, more present. I had exactly what I needed, and that was enough.

The Life Parallel

Since we returned home, I’ve been thinking about how this applies beyond a suitcase.

So often, we live our lives carrying more than we need. We hold onto unspoken expectations (of ourselves and others), perfectionism, comparison, regrets, old hurts, real or imagined fears. We overpack our days with commitments, saying “yes” to things we later wish we could rain-check. We crowd our minds with what-ifs and shoulds, stressing over things we can’t control.

And just like that overstuffed suitcase, these things quietly weigh us down.

It’s easy to tell ourselves it’s all necessary — that carrying it all makes us more prepared, more responsible, more worthy. But sometimes, it just makes us tired. Sometimes, it keeps us from being present for the good that’s right in front of us — and from saying yes to the things that matter more in the long run.

What I’m Choosing to Leave Behind

As I move deeper into this season — both the literal summer and this chapter of post-recovery life — I’m asking myself: What can I leave behind?

Here are a few things I’m working to release:

  • Perfectionism — the need to do it all, do it perfectly, and meet everyone’s expectations.

  • Old fear patterns — the “what if” thinking that crept in after last fall and still whispers in quieter moments.

  • Comparison — looking sideways instead of focusing on the path uniquely given to me and my family.

  • Overcommitting — saying yes to too many things out of guilt or obligation instead of true calling or capacity.

What I’m Choosing to Carry Forward

And here’s what I’m learning to keep in my metaphorical carry-on:

  • Presence — eyes up, heart open, fully in the moment as much as possible. Attuned to the things around me that matter.

  • Gratitude — anchoring each day in thankfulness, no matter how ordinary it seems. Learning to “count every beautiful thing.” (Thanks, Neutral Milk Hotel.)

  • Flexibility — allowing for plans to change, knowing joy is often found in the unplanned. Reminding myself that rigidity stifles.

  • Trust — resting in the knowledge that I don’t have to carry everything alone. Reaching out to those who are in my corner.

A Closing Reflection

Packing light is an act of faith. It says: I will trust that what I have is enough. I will trust that I am enough.

Whether we’re filling a suitcase or shaping a life, the lighter we travel, the freer we are to follow the Light that matters most.

May we all give ourselves permission to unpack what no longer serves us — and to walk forward a little less bogged down, a little freer, and a little more open to joy.

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The Hurt and the Healing

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The Slow, Quiet Work of Emotional Healing