5 years ago I was packing to go to the Gulf under some pretty precarious circumstances… by that I mean it was the night before my flight to Manama, and I hadn’t packed anything, and may or may not have been under the influence of a bottle of expensive white wine that the restaurant gifted us at ladies night.
To put it one way, with the intention of leaving for a year I had a bag filled with less than 20 pounds of various items. To put it another way, I had not idea what I was doing and some how only packed one pair of shoes, which ended up being totally inappropriate for sandy marble and were quickly replaced.
Fast forward to three major international moves, and I’d like to think I’ve gotten a lot better about it – usually I’m packed a few days before hand. The last few moves I’ve planned meticulously what I might need, and what I don’t have any need for.
Now though, I’m three weeks out of a move back to the US and I haven’t even started. A lot about this move feels like the first one to Bahrain…there is a fleeting, temporary quality about it. It doesn’t feel like this is the big move – the one where you put your feet down and settle in. This feels like the next adventure, thanks to the knowledge that this contract is finite to some extent.