Here we go again. First comes the visit to the closet in my basement, filled with teetering, precariously stacked duffel bags, suitcases and backpacks, all with luggage and airline bag tags in a tangle. Next comes the to do and to buy lists: get local currency from the bank, buy extra batteries, find voltage converters and more. This list quickly multiplies as each task reminds me of others I didn't initially think of, like packing contact lenses. Oops, I only have enough to last me two more weeks, while my return date isn't for another six. I need new contacts, stat, but this requires a visit to the optometrist to get a new prescription and a whole lot of begging to the receptionist to get me in before I leave. You'd think I'd have this packing thing down to a science by now because, as long as I can remember, I have been packing for various types of trips my whole life, from beach bumming in the Middle East to backpacking in South America to schooling overseas in Europe.

With a few obvious variations like temperature, duration of stay and reason for travel (work or play), I usually pack the same stuff: my favourite jeans, a few party dresses, layering pieces and at least a hoodie or two for those frigid plane rides that seem to suck the life out of my very soul. Despite knowing whatever I pack, I'm lucky if I get use out of twothirds of my suitcase's contents. I can't seem to teach myself to bring a little less. With an empty suitcase sitting in the middle of my floor, patiently waiting to be filled, I am procrastinating badly. It's not that I'm not excited to go; on the contrary, I can barely wait. It's just that I'm scared that even though the suitcase is the largest of the standard sizes, I'll fill it up with toiletries and shoes before I even get to my clothes. I'm more fearful than I usually am this time around because unlike other trips that last a few weeks or months, this one's going to be a long one, and unlike other trips within the same continent, mailing forgotten items will be a serious no-no. I laugh at the thought of flying to Los Angeles last summer to work at a summer camp with only one suitcase for three months; I cleverly preshipped two giant boxes to the camp prior to my arrival. I looked into shipping costs to my next destination, Melbourne; unfortunately for me, it's a little more costly to ship things there.

"Just pack your clothes on heaviest rotation," my Australian friend Elessa advised me. Easy for her to say. She's the most expert packer I have ever met in my life. Although she packed half as much as I did on a recent trip to Greece together, she seemed to have just as many outfit options as I did, and never seemed to get in that huffy "I didn't bring anything I want to wear!" dilemma I am all too familiar with. I can only credit her packing skills with her lack of attachment to material items. Elessa is right: old items barely ever make it back into rotation; that's why you're looking for something new in the first place. I am still trying to adopt this heartless way of treating my possessions, and am attempting to look at a shirt for what it is: just a shirt. Sometimes when I look at a shirt, I see the face of a faraway friend and I in a store in Milan buying said shirt, but I can get that same feeling from photos and memories, right?

As the suitcase in my room is still empty, I am assured it's big enough to hold all the possessions I wish to bring, but I am concerned by the memory of how quickly it fills up. This time, I made a list and I'm going to stick to it if it's the last thing I do. I will not bring items I think I might squeeze into an ensemble; I will only bring my most favourite clothes and live with wearing them on repeat for a year, I swear I'll make Elessa proud. As I have come to terms with the reality of only bringing said clothing items, I am now trying to tackle the bigger problem: I am a product junkie and I know it. Mix this with the fact I needed to stock up on a year's supply of my favourite products and the lack of space in my suitcase has become a major predicament once again. Face wash? Yep, can't live without it. On the sound advice of Elessa, I chose one instead of three, even though I am now sorely lacking an exfoliating formula. Maybe living further abroad than ever before will finally cure me of my packrat ways, and I truly will learn to live without the luxuries of choice or a hairdryer; it's part of the tradeoff of travel. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a suitcase to fill.