What to pack for an unexpected journey

I would pack this: my all-time favourite decades-old summertime T-shirt

At the best of times, I am lousy at packing. I overpack or under-pack and, often, either way, I don’t end up with the item I really wish I had. Whether I approach it with great thought or without much thought, the task requires that I propel myself into the future and put things into a container that will help me get through what lies ahead. But how can I know what lies ahead? The weather is unpredictable these days. How I'll feel on any given day is equally unpredictable. And how am I supposed to know just what I will want and need in order to manage what lands in my path on Day X down the road?

I have been thinking about this as thousands of my fellow Manitobans have been thrust into making important decisions in the context of urgency, as they pack up and flee from the raging wildfires in the northern regions of this province.

I have no perfect answers, just some thoughts, and they presume three things:

• Having the time — to think, to plan, to do (so, long before an evacuation order hits)
• Having the resources — containers to hold what I’m packing and then the means to transport them to wherever I’m going
• Having the capacity — the physical and emotional energy to complete the task

With those caveats, packing happens in three steps: 1. Consider. 2. Decide. 3. Regret.

CONSIDERING: When my mum left the two-storey family home to move into her 649-square-foot seniors apartment, she modelled for me the perfect way to approach this crucial first step. She went into every room of the house she had lived in for forty years, stood quietly, then said, “I want this and that and that, too. The rest of it you can deal with as you wish.” Mum zeroed in on the few exceptional items she wanted with her, rather than being overwhelmed by all that she could not take with her. From books to ornaments to kitchenware, she was courageous in winnowing down to importance and value to her.

DECIDING: Ideally, I would decide in two stages. First, bring everything I think I want to take with me into one place. Then, aim for reducing that first collection in half by moving the chosen things to another place. Step back. Go back to considering: Am I right? Can I live with leaving X, Y or Z in that first pile? Or should I bite the bullet and squeeze it in, after all? Think ahead two weeks, one year, five years: Will that item matter to me? Can it be replaced? Or does it represent something intangible and invaluable to me? If yes, then take it. If no, then leave it.

REGRETTING: This is likely inevitable. Over time, Mum regretted leaving as many of her precious books behind as she did (we donated them to the local library), but she came to realize that she could order new copies for herself, which she did. When I was packing up her apartment after she died, it wrenched me to donate the shelves of books she had gathered over her nine years living there, because I knew what they represented to her — her intellectual life that fed her spirit, and her curiosity about so many different things that made her so interesting as a conversationalist. Today, I wish I had taken pictures of those shelves as a reminder, but in the moment of packing I was moved more by the urgency of time than by potential future emotions.

Ah, yes. That is how it goes with time, isn’t it. Too little of it in the moment; too much of it for regret in the future.

So, with the luxury of all the time in the world in this moment and in the interest of seeing what I might end up with in my theoretical ‘take’ pile as I prepare for an imaginary unexpected journey, I have gone through each room in our house and pulled out those items I believe I would call precious enough to take with me. 

• my ‘memory box’ of diaries, letters and school papers and report cards going back to the mid-1960s
• a box (or more) of the collages I have made over the past 10 or so years
• photo albums and the box of cards and memorabilia from our wedding
• a box (or more) of my writings (paper copies in the bottom file cabinet drawer; the rest are in the cloud)
• a box (or more) of notebooks related to my writing and teaching
• my children’s book collection
• Mum’s wooden thimble box
• Mum’s silver cake tester
• Val’s polar bear sculpture bought in 1997 to represent the courage she needed in the face of her first cancer diagnosis
• the two green shot glasses that remind me of my father (and in which he taught me to drink freezer-cold vodka) 
• the two little plates from my great-grandmother’s collection on which we eat biscuits and other dessert
• the little oil painting of our late friend, Mendel the Magnificent
• a few paintings, including one by my grandmother and at least one by Val (maybe if I save the lakeshore one, she will [finally] finish it for me!)
• a box (or more) of my collage art supplies, including the several lovely tins from the Emma Bridgewater collection that I really love and in which I have Washi tape and special images for future work

Of course, beyond these emotionally laden or creative-work-related items, I would also pack clothes and shoes; devices + chargers; important documents; my reading glasses; the little radio (plus its rechargeable batteries) that I listen to overnight when I cannot sleep (such amazing programs that often keep me awake and fascinated).

Even as I write this, I am tempted to go back through the rooms and take a second sweep, but the whole point of this exercise is to be disciplined about it. To put an end to what can be endless ruminating, to put a hard STOP to it. Because whether it’s a fire roaring through the forest or the sound of the moving truck coming down the road or it’s simply the hands on the clock moving inexorably towards the time you have set to leave the house, putting a limit on the ‘considering’ and ‘deciding’ steps of packing is essential if the journey is ever to begin.

If we are fortunate, we control that beginning. If a force larger than ourselves is at play, may we have done some good considering and deciding in advance. Only one thing is for sure: Regret comes in many forms; may it not include leaving everything too late for saving.

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Land acknowledgement: I respectfully recognize that I live on the original lands of Anishinaabe, Cree, Oji-Cree, Dakota and Dene peoples, and on the homeland of the Métis Nation.