The Joys and Stress of Packing

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This past week has been rather bittersweet since it has been filled with fare-thee-wells and endless amounts of packing. Why you ask? Because tomorrow is the day I finally leave to become a camp counselor.

I am so excited about my future prospects that I can barely hold it in. With each article of clothing --or needed item-- I pack, I feel as though I am one step closer to my newest endeavor. And with this great adventure who knows what else will come?

The anticipation, I will admit, is making me a bit nervous. During this past week I had a dream that I woke up on the day I was leaving five hours late and everything that I needed to take in the laundry hamper. When I awoke sweat dripped from my brow and I immediately got up and frantically began to pack, smelling each piece of clothing so that I could assure myself it was clean.

As of this moment all of my clothes have been packed and laundered (halleluiah) and all of my toiletries, bedding, and shoes are neatly stowed away into their intended bags. Even my guitar, ukulele, and white board are ready to go. All I have left to pack into my car is me.

I must say, that through all of this packing I have slowly come to realize I have no idea what I actually need for this job, Will thirty pieces of clothing be enough? Or is that too much? I don’t want to look like a pack-mule nor do I want to be named the bag lady. Then I ask myself, why do I care so much?

I know that pre-journey jitters are normal and that almost everyone goes through them, but if my goal is to become a writer for adventure novels shouldn’t I know how to pack accordingly? After all, it’s not like Wendy was like, “Hey Peter, so what’s the weather like in Neverland? Should I bring a coat? Maybe an extra pair of socks?”

Do any of you guys have any packing tips? Whether they’re for real life or stories? Or, better yet, do any of you know where I can get Mary Poppins carpetbag?

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HKx

Brandon Lee took the pictures above in December of 2011. The brief case, along with everything I am wearing, is from all four of my grandparents’ closets.

The Little House with the Wooden Door

You would never notice it, that little house with the wooden door. You would just walk by it and not even give it a second thought. Never knowing that it had always been there your entire life. Probably because you had never truly seen it, you only saw it out of the corner of your eye and before you could turn to look at it, the sweet sent of roses and freshly cut grass from the garden next door would distract you. 

But it sits there content with it’s abandoned situation. And if it weren’t for that door with unique carvings or it’s odd pathway that seems to be more of an exit than an entrance, it would have gone unnoticed for the rest of it’s days.

But you see, children aren’t fooled by these airs. No matter how hard that little house may try to hide from the world or pass off as normal, the children can feel the magic creeping out from inside it. And sometimes, if you still believe, you can feel it’s magic too.

Sometimes, when I walk by, I wonder who lives in there. By the looks of things no one does, its only occupants are an old motorcycle in its back yard and closed blinds that keeps you from looking in. Keeping you from finding the true magic that lies inside of it.

Hudson Kelly x

The Birth of Spring

Photo by: Hudson Kelly

You can feel it sometimes, the coming of spring. It’s starts with a calling. The calling comes from that place where you store the remains of your childhood. The bits of it you cannot bare to part with. And there the calling is, finally breaking free, begging you to come out and frolic in the sun.

For me this voice came after my baby sister’s Spring Sing. As I sat in the audience, listening to her angelic voice sing I was suddenly overcome with the need to go on a walk. The second the performance was over I grabbed my bag, told my mom I would meet her at home, and made my way through the streets of my hometown. As I walked my mind wandered away from me and settled itself in the land of what ifs, while feet went down streets I hadn’t walked on in years because of my ability to drive.

As the wind blew my hair out of my face and the sun hugged me with it’s warmth, I tried to think about my future. Knowing that I needed to sort out my goals and plan out each of my steps to get there but I couldn’t, I was enjoying the day. So I thought about myself. Where I was at in my life and what I was happy with.

When I reached my street I did not stop, I kept going, knowing that home was not where I was suppose to be. So I followed my gut until I reached a grassy field by my house and, because it felt right, I sat down on a bench, withdrew my portable notebook and pen, and began to write.

 Not being able to stop, I poured my heart out to that little gray notebook with the purple strap. I wrote down my uncertainties and my fears, my secrets and my epiphanies and I kept writing until there was nothing left in me and when it was over I laid myself down on a grassy hill, closed my eyes and dreamed.

As I meditated in the sun, the world around me started to make sense and I realized I had to let go. Sometimes over planning your life does not help you future, but living in the moment and taking that moment to breathe does.

When I awoke, I found a ladybug crawling on my arm. Staring at her as I basked in the sun, I felt the little lady’s luck grow inside me until I was rejuvenated. Picking up my bag, I ran home, grabbed my guitar and returned to my little spot on the hill of the grassy meadow and began strumming out a tune until a song came forth. And in that moment, I knew spring, the time of rebirth, had come.

Hudson Kelly x