I need to create a filter for my travel packing list; right now, it contains only one word: everything.

I am an impetuous packer. I can’t distinguish the essentials from those items better left at home, which often results in a frenzied attempt to squeeze every last article of haphazardly folded clothing into my suitcase minutes before departure. Yet how I became this way is no mystery.

The story begins before I was even able to speak, when my parents would take advantage of the two bags per passenger airline policy.
With the generous international weight allowance, we’ve had the luxury of packing anything and everything we wish to carry abroad. I often have to remind my parents that we’re not visiting a remote island. In fact, India is quite the opposite.

Nonetheless, our suitcases are always teeming with miscellaneous goods that somehow amount to a whopping 400 pounds for our four-member family. And on the return journey, perhaps we’d carry fewer bags, but the same story goes.

There are enough saffron-infused sweets, homemade pickles, and fried savories—things we can’t possibly leave without—to fill up the space. Despite vacuum sealing every last packed item, I still find myself sitting atop the suitcase in a desperate effort to close it.
I will admit, though, that we weren’t alone. Most of the people in line on these flights to India had bags soon to be labeled “HEAVY.” I’m sure that to the airlines’ delight, flights to India produce an unprecedented amount of income solely off of the overweight fees from travelers like us.

But this summer, when I reviewed the suggestion to carry a medium or small-sized piece of luggage on our trip to Europe, I was stunned to think that I was supposed to fit two and a half weeks’ worth of belongings in such a small container.

Like many teenage girls, I tend to believe that I must pack six cardigans, a shirt for every day, a pair of boots, flats, sandals, heels, casual sneakers, non-casual sneakers, a sweatshirt with a hood and one without. Like I said, everything.

Despite my mother’s frequent pleas to pack less—which, I’ll admit, only strengthened my stance against hers—I stood my ground and refused to remove even one of the sweaters. The worst part is that I never did end up donning my previously called “essentials;” I was lucky to have worn half.

I arrived the morning of our flight, looking rather ridiculous among my peers whose bags were half the size of mine; I could barely lift it onto the bus.

However, this recent trip allowed me to rethink my entrenched approach.

I’ve been so used to having my parents take care of the suitcases, but when transportation included water-taxis, cramped subways and claustrophobic overnight trains, and our group of 21 high school students were forced to run up multiple flights of steps inside the Paris underground station, I wished I had followed my mother’s advice.

Nonetheless, I carried my bag with the resignation of knowing that I had packed rather foolishly.

I took ownership of my fault, and not once did I complain. How could I, when I had no one to blame except myself? I had been warned on countless occasions, and my classic stubbornness got in the way.

While over-packing is just a habit that yields only minor consequences, I often worry whether the more fundamental issue is that I’m too single-minded to heed advice when it is most necessary.

I’m quick to disagree; I irrationally argue my point. But I’m working on it. I’m trying to take the extra few seconds to actually listen, process, and digest advice before insisting on my own opinion. It’s a mindset change that requires a little bit of time and some letting go, but the rewards will be invaluable. With a change in perspective, I’m sure I’ll learn something I never expected.
For now, though, I’ll start with lightening my suitcase and streamlining my packing list.