Packing.
PACKING LIST
If you are going to live
here, for now,
on this green earth
in these bright dark days
you’ll need to bring
memory, firstly.
And a thirst for the curious—the odd.
Also, a bit of resilience and a few brightly wrapped
pieces of joy for the journey—
boredom is treacherous and it helps
if you have something to savor.
Pack a scrap or two of imagination,
if you have them lying about,
and a sound pair of rose-colored-glasses,
which you can choose to wear, or not.
Bring also, sorrow. Great griefs and small,
as they will anchor you to hope,
and nothing, in the end, can kill hope.
Finally, fill your pockets with love.
It’s the perfect seed—
nourishing, nurturing, negating despair,
and when all else fails
it will warm your bones,
on this long walk home.
—Beth Hautala
Packing is a curious act, isn’t it? A mix of practicality and whimsy, decisions and dreams. You stand over an empty suitcase, staring at it like it might whisper the answer to an unasked question. What do you take? What do you leave behind? What will you wish for when you’re too far from home to turn back?
As I get ready for my trip to France, I’m thinking about both kinds of packing. The first kind is easy enough—good shoes for wandering cobblestone streets, cozy layers for the chilly French countryside, a notebook and my favorite pen. The logical list of essentials.
But then there’s the other kind of packing, the kind that has nothing to do with zippers or airline weight limits. It’s the packing of the heart and soul. And this kind is messier, harder to plan for, but infinitely more important.
If you are going to live
here, for now,
on this green earth
in these bright dark days
you’ll need to bring memory, firstly.
Memory, yes. Memory always goes first into the suitcase of the soul. The stories of who I’ve been, the people I’ve loved, the places that have left their fingerprints on my heart. Memory gives meaning to everything—it’s the thread that ties the past to the present, the familiar to the unknown.
And a thirst for the curious—the odd.
If memory is the thread, curiosity is the needle, stitching together moments that might otherwise go unnoticed. It’s what makes us linger a little longer at the café window or turn down the unexpected side street, chasing something we can’t quite name.
Then there’s resilience and joy. Essential companions, especially when things don’t go as planned (and they won’t—this is travel, after all). Resilience keeps you standing when the train is delayed for hours; joy helps you find something to smile about while you wait.
Pack a scrap or two of imagination,
if you have them lying about…
Imagination is my favorite thing to pack. It’s light as air, takes up no room, and yet it’s capable of expanding entire worlds. With imagination in my suitcase, every street becomes a story, every encounter a spark.
And finally, the heaviest yet most vital items:
Bring also, sorrow. Great griefs and small,
as they will anchor you to hope,
and nothing, in the end, can kill hope.
Grief always sneaks its way in, doesn’t it? It doesn’t ask permission. But maybe that’s okay. Because grief, when held gently, has a way of pointing us back toward hope. And love—oh, love.
Finally, fill your pockets with love.
It’s the perfect seed—
nourishing, nurturing, negating despair.
Love is the thing that keeps the journey alive. It’s the fuel for the long walks, the unexpected detours, the moments when everything feels too much and not enough. Love is the anchor, the compass, the warmth on a cold day.
So here I am, packing my suitcase—both the physical one and the invisible one. One will hold sweaters and notebooks. The other will hold memory, curiosity, joy, resilience, imagination, sorrow, and love. Together, they’ll carry me through Paris, the French countryside, and whatever comes next. Here’s to the unknown. Here’s to the bright, dark days ahead.
Here’s to the long walk home.
—Beth