the importance of the view from above

Secretly, I’ve always wanted to be one of those people who walk around school with nothing. No backpack, notebook, pencils, highlighters. Instead, I am the person walking around with clothes and shoes for the gym, books, my laptop, a charger for everything I’m too irresponsible to remember to charge at home, and food. Half of the time, I don’t know who these people are who can either attend class and absorb everything a professor says or don’t care that they can’t. The other half of the time, I remember that I am dating one of those people. And he was the one who helped me pack for my 6-week journey abroad. I’ve always been a light packer, but the two of us together are a disaster waiting to happen. I know that the answer to “Do I need this?” will be met with a self-assured, “No. I can’t think of any situation that you would need that, except for a disaster.” Exactly the words I will think about throughout my imminent downward spiral of panic.
 

My mom and Jenn try to intervene with Alex’s and my indomitable packing confidence. We pack for the best possible scenario and decide that I don’t need back-up anythings because, should I drop my toothbrush on the ground, I will simply figure out a way to get a new one. Mom and Jenn, on the other hand, try to convince me to bring double the quantity of everything I think I’ll need. I am not worried. I know what I’m doing. I’ve done this before. Until they leave and I’m laying in bed , suddenly wide-eyed, with my tiny suitcase sitting at the door of my room like a neat package of Reminders of Things Left Behind.

I can’t sleep. Not because of the usual excitement the night before a trip, but because Mom and Jenn were obviously right! I do need to bring enough shampoo to last me nine months, just in case! You never know what will happen! But I do know that whatever happens, I don’t want to be caught with unwashed hair. Mom and Jenn are girls, and girly people would never find themselves in the predicament I’m putting myself in, with just enough toiletries to last the time for which I need them. “Alex I don’t want to grow up!” This is relevant. “I’m clearly not mature enough to be prepared for a trip of this magnitude. Also, hug me!” Eventually, post-hug, he rolls over and murmurs, “You’re going to be fine. You’re going to have the time of your life.” Easy words to say when you are asleep and not a very hygienic person to start out with. Of course, these were unfair thoughts, as Alex washes his hair daily.

As I get off the train at the airport, I am extremely early so I look around to see the people around me who have packed in various forms of preparedness, which I can’t help but view as, candidly, various forms of overpacking. I have regained my calm. I no longer need massive amounts of toiletries. I can still occasionally feel bouts of panic overcoming me as I start mentally checking off things that I forgot or didn’t absolutely need to pack, but may become problematic later: an extra memory card or camera cord; my Kindle, not quite forgotten but also not quite purposely left behind. Suddenly, as a storm looms outside near the airplanes and I imagine disaster scenarios of flight cancellations (I am not one to imagine disaster scenarios of plane crashes), the man who has arrived at the airport with only an umbrella seems levels more prepared than I am. 

This would continue throughout my nine-hour flight to Frankfurt, Germany. And then some more during my short layover. All the way through Warsaw, where I hoped to be delivered to someone who would take me in and show me where to buy extra shampoo.

[Pictures from the flight from Zurich, Switzerland to Warsaw, Poland. I sat on the right side of the plane. Also the correct side.]