Overpacking like a pro-phet
pack it up, pack it in, let me begin
I used to be a great packer. Check a bag? Not ever. Are you mad? Have you lost your mind? This guy doesn’t check bags. He rolls clothes, brings just enough of everything, not one thing extra. Five days out of a backpack, one little roll-aboard for a two week beach vacation. Not an issue. Like some hostel staying transient, I traveled light. Ready to roll at a moment’s notice. No plans, just pure Braveheart freedom. Then you have children and that all goes to shit. Before you know it you’re packing every single thing you own into every bag you’ve ever heard of. Toys, bedding, bottles, brushes, sound machines, blackout curtains, rolls of painter’s tape, outlet covers, pool toys, and half of a CVS. You go from being someone who takes pride in his minimalism, to some odd, maximalist, thing hoarder almost overnight. At some point, without you noticing, somewhere around your third leased minivan, you realize that your packing prowess has shifted from one searching for efficiency to some form of hedonistic expedition preparation. You’re like Roald Amundsen in 1911 journeying to the South Pole ready for every eventuality. “Look if we have to eat the sled dogs, we’ll eat the damn sled dogs, but only as a last resort!”
In my mind, this weekend upstate has some of the same perils. What if we need board games we never play? I need the golf clubs and the push cart. But 36 balls? Just bring them. CPAP? Check. Three pairs of shoes for a weekend you will spend entirely inside and by a pool? Of course. Crocs, sneakers and one more just in case. We need the book I won’t read and the journal I won’t write in. 6 pairs of socks for 4 days, underwear to match it. The nice shirt you won’t wear, and let’s bring the frisbee too. Why the frisbee? We tossed it a few years back and it was fun, so just grab it. Now let’s turn our attention to the dopp kit. First off, make sure we have all the pills, the brushes, the pastes and the ointments. The sunscreens, the lotions and the potions. Now let’s make sure we have enough first aid to equip a WW1 field surgery tent. Staunch bleeders, remove splinters, perform an amputation, cure chafing, disinfect the infected, swap out a spleen, whatever may befall me or anyone I’m with on this three day safari to a fully stocked house, I can promise you one thing. I will be ready.
Why am I doing this now? What has changed inside of me? Can this all be chalked up to age, or is there something bigger? I’m beginning to think I’m yearning to be a hero to someone, anyone, please. I start my packing list four days before a two day trip. Everything that could happen or that I might want to have happen goes right in the note. It’s like I’m angling for some middle-aged, merit badge to pin to a little red vest proclaiming me as the single most prepped guy. The problem of course being, that if this expedition was ever anything close to a real expedition I’d be the first one to perish under the weight of all this shit. “Seth, why did you bring the Sonos speaker to cross the Himalayas?” “You’ll thank me when it’s -37 in the tent and I’m soothing your fears with Joni Mitchell.”
But this is no trek. This is a trip to the Catskills to my step father’s house, who has everything. Everything except enough cheese that is. So obviously we’re gonna stop off at the grocery store just to grab a few essentials. There are six of us, plus the niece and nephew so I should probably buy almost everything here. Appetizers, charcuterie, get a melon even though they live by farms and I live in the most expensive suburb in human history. Grab crackers, and hey, that kielbasa looks good. Luckily, I packed a freezer bag with a bunch of ice packs in it. Dessert? Get it. And let’s stop off and get some bagels, a dozen, maybe 18. Large lox package, multiple flavors of cream cheese. Drink mixers? Let’s make Palomas, French 75’s, and dark & stormies. What is this a bougie New Year’s rave? It might be. Speaking of stormy, pack the rain coat and the umbrella. I really should buy some rain boots. Is there time to grab them before I leave?
Who have I become? Is this the first step of old age? Does just leaving the house eventually become such an avalanche of preparation for all possibilities, that it’s better to just stay put? No, I’m excited to go and amped to Tetris pack my Mini Cooper to within an inch of its life. Maybe it’s just that I want someone to think, “if only there was some burrata here.” then I’d leap from the pool dripping everywhere and scream, “did someone ask for semi-soft, Italian, stretched-curd cheese?! I gotchu! Do you mind if it has truffles in it? Yeah, I thought not.”
Why obsess over these things? We change as people. What was core to our being is no longer. If everything that mattered to me when I was 20 still mattered to me today I’d be insufferable. So if you love me, just accept that I’ve gone from taking pride in my nimble ways to searching for new ways to be a provider to people who never asked for that service. I have become the Moses of 72 hr. getaways, standing on the hood of my car, holding a recyclable shopping bag filled with Tanqueray, Prosecco, flip-flops, travel Boggle and a kielbasa like it was a stone tablet carved with God’s word ready lead my people to a poolside promised land. Who’s with me?
This made me laugh out loud as I’ve been to this Catskills Mecca and totally get being prepared!
Man, reading this had me thinking of every Dad who, suddenly it seems, feels the need to hoard, but usually one particular thing. My father had a moment where he chose to hoard old gear molds, like the wooden pieces they poured the metal in to make gears. "These will be worth a mint someday." Spoiler alert: they were not.
It's like this video of the Dad who finally gets to use the random piece of wood he's been saving: https://youtube.com/shorts/R7LsubMttMs?si=nmhTIcjtEPo4XNSe
Great piece! Also, Catskills are great.