Learning to Travel Light

I’m writing this from the airport, waiting for my flight to Hawaii. A coincidence? Maybe. But somehow, it feels like exactly where this post was meant to begin.

I’ve always been an overpacker—both in my suitcase and in my life. My type A brain loves to “just in case” every possible scenario.

For years, I’ve carried too much—things I thought I might need, emotions I thought I should hold onto, expectations I convinced myself were non-negotiable. Now, I'm learning to travel light.

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What you thought you needed vs. what you actually needed.

This morning, as I zipped up my suitcase, I noticed how different it looked. Fewer shoes. Lighter clothes. A single book instead of three.

I thought about all the times I’d lugged heavy bags through airports only to wear the same two outfits.

This trip, I’m trading “just in case” for “just enough.”

The truth? I don’t need the extra dress.

I don’t need the backup to the backup plan. And I certainly don’t need the pressure to make every moment perfect.

Letting go: expectations, guilt, control.

Yesterday, my therapist and I talked about “anticipation anxiety”—the way my mind jumps ahead to everything that could go wrong. Flying is one of my triggers, especially since becoming a mom. But as I sit here, alone, about to take my first solo vacation in years, I’ve decided to travel lighter in more ways than one.

I’m leaving behind the schedule, the worry, and the guilt of always being “on” for everyone. I want to arrive and simply let things unfold—messy, beautiful, unplanned.

And here’s a fun twist: I realized on the way to the airport that I’d forgotten my Oura ring at home. Not on purpose—but maybe my subconscious was sending me a message. This trip isn’t about tracking every step or every heartbeat. It’s about being in my own skin, in my own time, without measuring it.

Unpacking more than a suitcase.

Brides often show up on their wedding morning carrying more than a veil and a train—they’re holding an invisible load of expectations, what-ifs, and the pressure to keep everyone happy.

My role is to help them quietly unpack all of that until they’re left with only what matters: the joy, the people they love, and the moments they’ll never get back.

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Closing.

Traveling light isn’t just about what fits in a carry-on—it’s about finding your way back to yourself with room to breathe.

By the time you read this, I’ll be on my way home, a little sun-kissed, maybe a little salty, and hopefully carrying more stories than stuff. Check back next Sunday to find out where the plan-less plan took me.