46: It's okay to snoop

July 11, 2016 Helen McLaughlin

THE MULE | oklahoma city, ok

I don't know about you, but I need today to be lighthearted. So, let's talk about my traveling closet.

When Dana and I decided to sell the RV in Spokane, drive our stuff to my sweet in-laws', and ride the rails for a few weeks, the first thing I fretted over was what to pack.

I knew that, ultimately, I was packing for an Oklahoma summer, but besides that, I had no idea what our situation called for. How do you pack for everyday living without a home...and fit it all in a backpack? Our time in the RV had taught me that I never used one hundred percent of whatever I brought—so, better to stick with bare-bones basics and pine after what doesn't make the cut (red clogs!) than carry the extra, and unnecessary, weight of the items that will get worn maybe once, if at all. For me, the thing to keep at the front of my mind is this: Comfort and contentedness while traveling comes not from having all the options I'd like, but from liking all the options I have.

Besides, my clogs and I will be reunited later this year.

Last week, I received in the mail a new travel backpack that I suspect really might be the Holy Grail of All Luggage, Ever. It's to replace the camping backpack that just wasn't working—one that required an exasperated rejiggering of its contents every time an item was removed. This new fellow isn't so ornery.

I'm a bit nosy when it comes to how and what others pack for short- and long-term travel, so I figure you might be, too. It's just such a curious thing, isn't it? How travelers manage not to look like they're living out of a suitcase when, in fact, they are.

Well, I think I cracked the code. Cracked my code, anyway.

Pick only your favorites; take two fewer shirts than you think you need (two of those pictured haven't been worn a single time in the past three months); make sure the shoes are practical for walking (no offense, red clogs) and make you smile.

Add to that pajamas, undies, gym clothes, and running sneakers, and you have yourself a vagabond who's at home in her skin and suitcase.

'Til soon,
Helen