How to Pack Up Your Life, Part 1

Spoiler: You leave a lot behind.

It turns out that the proverbial “sell all your stuff and move to Europe” act still requires a fair amount of stuff. I wanted to write about the experience in two parts: the logistics beforehand and the reality afterwards. Because you can only plan so much, and you can only learn what you should have done after doing the wrong things first.

Disclaimer: I’m not an expert packer, despite how much I’ve traveled and my nerdy obsession with packing videos. However, I do believe I have great ideas about packing, even if they occasionally get lost in translation and I somehow still end up with a weighed-down, overstuffed personal item. Preparation is my cardinal right as a Capricorn, and while our move to Italy came together within the span of about a month, I like to think it also leans on my decades of experience as someone who loves a paper checklist and can’t help but think of every nuanced way to make a travel experience better.

So. Here’s a look at the first half of our move and answering that FAQ, What are you doing with all of your stuff?

Shoving it frantically in bags, of course! While saving room for oyster pills.

You decide what to keep.

Moving abroad is not like moving across town, or across the country—two things I’ve done more than a well-adjusted person probably should. If you’re trying to do it without spending an exorbitant amount of money, as we are, then you have no choice but to work backwards. You have to think of what you absolutely need/want once you arrive in your new home and how committed you are to schlepping it across an ocean. Unlike other things in life, a suitcase really is a zero-sum game. It also has a weight limit.

For me, this was both complex and freeing. I am sentimental. I love beautiful things. I’ve spent the last few years trying to buy only those items that feel purposeful, sustainable…etc.

And guess what? There are a lot of purposeful, sustainable items in the world. Many of them found their way to my house.

Not my house, but a rare setting of simplicity where you could easily ponder your life’s purpose.

This is where I had to get ruthless. With myself. With what I want to be attached to. In my soul, I know that it’s nothing material. The things we collect can either be simple reminders of, or great distractions from, the Subtle Presence within—something that my practice of making space to recognize has undoubtedly deepened in recently. Now is the time to live like it.

FAIR WARNING. Nothing proves what you believe like the moment you have to give something away for free. Knowing physical objects hold no ultimate value doesn’t mean that I was prepared to part with nearly everything, or that I suddenly had no practical needs. But it did help condense things into two checked bags (four, if taking over a toddler’s two checked bags), two carry-ons, and two personal items.

To fill those, I started with what I typically use each day. I took note of:

• my most life-giving rituals (am/pm routines, red light therapy, books/journal),

• my most reached-for products (skincare, makeup, haircare),

• my most frequently laundered clothes (for work, play, sleep, different weather),

and gave those precious space in my son’s my bags. Everything else, in theory, had served its role. That, or we’d be shipping it later. More on that below.

You decide what to stock up on.

My husband will read this and laugh. A look inside one of those bags would reveal a literal pile of hypocrisy. Do I use that olive wood bowl every day? How about those two, tote-sized bags of vitamins? Why a box, within a box, containing a delicately-carved, hanging mobile? Or those FOUR folded bath towels?

Alas. I said it was a start. And a practice. If I was packing for a month-long vacation, I could have stopped at the above. But in the case of moving life and imagining it anew in an empty space heavily distorted with post-move exhaustion, I know it won’t be a vacation. I’ll be jet-lagged. I’ll feel dirty. The delayed grief over closing one chapter and beginning another, long-awaited one will inevitably wash over me. I’ll want, however small, a few comforts to make that beautiful, yet unfurnished, apartment slowly start to feel like home.

Hence, in goes the fruit bowl. The mobile. The fresh bath towels, since we won’t immediately have a washer/dryer and who wants to shower with a towel you just bought and haven’t been able to wash!? Plus, duplicates of my hippie, witchy, wonderful remedies compiling my medicine chest. There are certain things a person needs to stock up on.

Hers & His. Oh, how I wish I could exist on a single bar of soap.

Which is why, in addition to the things that make up daily life, I’ve also had to think about extras I may not be able to get over there. At least for the first few months—or until I discover the truer, better Italian alternatives—I’d like my:

• Probiotics

• Magnesium powder

• Colostrum powder

• TCM herbs

• Homeopathic remedies

• Flower essences

• Lemon balm

• Oyster pills

• Castor oil packs

• Digestive aids

• Deodorant refills

• Grounding sheet - IYKYK

• Stone crop facial mist

• Hair cream

• Smoky salsa

Those alone occupy a quarter of my checked luggage. Luckily, they are also pretty heavy, mostly made from breakable glass, contain liquids, and have awkward sizes that create a maddening Tetris game.

Another win for fluffy towels.

You decide what to ship.

There are some things you just can’t part with, no matter how awakened or enlightened you may be. We knew there were some larger art pieces, smaller items of precious furniture, and boxes of books (me) and tools (him) that would need to join us in Italy eventually. Show me a forever home without a wall of dog-eared books and I’ll show you a tragedy.

I researched multiple international shipping companies, lurked online forums, and dissected many customer reviews before deciding that, right now, given the speed with which we wanted to move and the number of important decisions we were trying to make, adding the $5,000-10,000 expense of cargo shipping wasn’t an immediate need.

If you happen to find a set of four orange David Rowland chairs at a resale shop in Austin, Texas, please take care of them.

Anything that wasn’t coming on the plane instead went into a box, which went into a trailer, that we hauled to my parents’ house to be safely stored until further notice.¹ Once we land and have a realistic idea of our space and its delivery access, I’ll resume my research. I am well aware that one day, relatively soon, I will have to sort through those boxes yet again and hold its contents up to the light of my heart. But that day is not today.

Today, we prepare to leave. Much behind. Much ahead. All we have is now.²

1. From what I’ve read, it sounds like we have 12 months once establishing residency in Italy to import previously-owned goods without paying taxes on them.

2. Plus nine bags, a stroller, a travel crib, and a car seat.