Chronic Overpacker
/Hello from Kiawah Island! I'm here visiting my best friend and it's nothing but sun, sand... and the three billion items I felt it imperative to bring with me from home for this four-day journey.
I have never been a good packer but I've never really taken the time to sit down and figure out why. There was a 30-mile stretch in South Carolina where I picked up nothing but screaming preachers and church music, so I had a little time to think about where I went errant in my packing ways.
Here's my best guess: I overpack in the hopes I will transform into a completely different person while on vacation. Someone who casually throws on wide-brimmed floppy hats or knows how to layer bracelets and necklaces and look contemporary and whimsical and not like an aging late 80's Madonna wanna-be. With this me-only-better person in mind, I dig into the recesses of my closet and pull out clothes that haven't seen daylight since the Clinton years. I fully expect that once I see the beach, I'll be inspired by that strapless neon sundress or the clog shoes or the big wooden necklace I had to have and have never worn because for the life of me I can't figure out what it goes with.
I brought a bag of hair accessories because I apparently decided that once I saw ocean, I'd be transformed into someone who knows exactly what to do with a banana clip or a polka-dot headband or sparkly faux-diamond hairpins and that I would intuitively master the art of the french twist.
That's the dream. The reality is I have spent my first two days here in a swimsuit, shorts, and a rainbow of tank tops with my hair thrown back in a ponytail.
The dream has not died however. A group of us are going into Charleston today. I have carefully laid out on my bed a sundress, a floppy hat, necklaces, and rhinestone barrettes.
I can make it work. I know I can.
Cheers,
Dena
