Let me sing you the song of my people.
I’m a bad decision maker. Decisions are hard. They require a firm stance. Black and white. There’s no gray area in decision making.
I like choices. I like having options. A sliding scale of colors that ranges through the entirety of ROYGBIV and everything in between.
My closet is fully loaded. Though I regularly purge clothes (donating to thrift shops, giving to friends and family or selling on Poshmark and Mercari), I have a closet full of options. Choices. Possibilities. Most of them are at least several years old, and if they’re not, they’re rescued from thrift stores — what I like to call, “new to me.”
I can hardly decide what to wear for the next three hours (even when it’s cozy pajama pants and a matching t-shirt) let alone what I’m going to want to wear for the next five days in a row (when the weather might change drastically). So when I travel, I pack like a boy scout. I am prepared for everything.
And still, I’m not prepared. I always forget something. I kept throwing items into an underweight suitcase, because I could, but I didn’t need any of them. And I will most assuredly think of something I wish I had with me while gone.
What If is the true song of my people. The words ringing in my ears like a siren. The fear that I have packed too much and yet also not enough. The constant worry that I did not adequately prepare for a few warm days in the middle of a small island city — a quick respite from the bitter cold of winter in Chicago.
What if indeed.