Turns Out, You Do Take Some Things With You. Now and Always.

Store.

Ship.

Sell.

Every item needed one of these three labels and handled accordingly. It was no small task. Hundreds of little choices cluttering the international moving process. Decisions about bowls and pillows and books were scattered amongst obtaining visas and work permits and airline tickets. Even so, there were plenty of items we couldn’t label store, ship or sell. There were the intangibles that elude decision and couldn’t be packed away in a box and saved for later. We all know the adage you can’t take it with you. But it turns out, you do take some things with you. Now and always.

A few years ago Adam Sandler did a skit on Saturday Night Live in which he played Signore Romano, the owner of an Italian tour company. In this segment, his character pitches Romano Tours, describing why global travelers should choose his company over the others. The twist comes when he lays out exactly what his tours won’t do. His point is humorously, and sadly, true:

A memorable trip to an exotic locale may change where you are, but it won’t change who you are.

And it won’t cure what ails or worries you.

Wherever you go, there are things you can’t help but take with you, tucked in the folds of your being, carefully packed to not shift in the overhead compartment of your mind. Leaving town may give you a reprieve from a stressful job or a toxic person. But a change of scenery can’t fix what awaits you at home. The problems won’t go away by going away. You still, inevitably, have to face them.

Wanderlust, it’s what the brain needs.

When my husband and I were running out of options in our infertility journey, we needed to clear our minds. For us this meant taking a trip and New Zealand was choice number one. We hoped a break from the stress of IVF would help us decide whether to push ahead with another round or pursue adoption instead. We couldn’t run from the glaring fact we were four years in and still weren’t expecting. But we knew getting out from under the weight of our worry might give us a fresh perspective.

As it turns out, we ended up expecting twins before we could plan the trip.

Fast forward 17 years, and we find ourselves in New Zealand, three teenagers and a large puppy in tow. Ready for a change, primed to experience a different locale. Lots to explore, loads to share here on Pulse and with family, friends, and social media. And we’ve shared the “best of” so far.

It’s been a good ride.

But let’s pump the brakes a bit.

In recent weeks I’ve backed off the highlight reel. Don’t we all get a bit sick of that? The photo dump? The constantly smiling family in photos that just. keep. coming…? I don’t want to wear out our welcome.

Thus, this post.

In full Facebook heresy, I’m going to admit something. We’ve settled into a routine: work, school, chores. That’s most of what life is. And that life gets punctuated by adventures and achievements, which are the bits we share. It’s easy to fall under the impression that everyone lives an enormously content existence, despite the reality that no one’s life is as charmed as their Facebook feed suggests. We think the in-between is mundane, unshareable content. But let’s face it, that’s life. No matter where you are.

Full disclosure.

In New Zealand, I’m still a worrier. Perseveration is my Achilles heel, and my shaky self-esteem gets in my way more often than I care to admit. My demons remain intact, no matter where our family hangs our shingle.

Work is still tiring for my husband and frustrated by “suits” who don’t get the purpose of healthcare.

My kids are still riding the adolescent wave that hit well before we uprooted to New Zealand, surfing that same teen angst while adjusting to the newness of a foreign country. They’ve also returned to in-person learning…in a foreign country. And by removing the shield of remote schooling our kids are playing catch-up in navigating teen political culture, also in a foreign country. It hasn’t been easy. Some days, life is like one of the strong storms that occasionally roars along the New Zealand west coast.

In other words, real life has followed us to the opposite side of the world, 7487 miles, to be precise. And if it can follow us that far, it can follow anyone anywhere.

What’s in your luggage?

All of us hope on some level that an adventure will solve life’s problems. But it doesn’t. When we decide to make a big change or simply get out of dodge for a week, we carry two kinds of luggage with us: a suitcase with our PJs and toothbrush and the other our metaphorical baggage stuffed with the wadded-up, wrinkled anxieties we hate to admit even exist.

So which bag is more cumbersome? It depends. For those who are running toward something, it’s the former. For those who are running away from something, it’s the latter. However, if we are looking forward to the beach, we don’t mind lugging a gallon of sunblock. If we are desperate to escape to a tropical island, the suitcase of dissatisfaction rolls bumpily behind us. And we wonder unhappily why. We drag the baggage and joyful pull the luggage.

So what’s in our luggage defines our experience:

Whether we enjoy ourselves or not.

And whether we are open to the novelty of the experience or not.

Also whether we are kind or disrespectful.

In the “real stuff” department, we brought a lot of luggage to New Zealand but also left a lot behind. In the “baggage” department, we brought all the worries, difficulties and faults. Every last one of them. And being in one of the most beautiful, friendly, welcoming places in the world doesn’t change anything that ails us. That’s just the way it is.

And unfortunately, new problems arise. That’s also just the way it is.

Perspective matters.

But what makes the baggage lighter is that our family came toward something when we moved to New Zealand. A desire for a cool new experience. The novelty makes the day-to-day slog much more doable. Not easy. But in perspective. Living in a place literally on the opposite side of the world has been a remarkable blessing. Here we are, on an island half the size of our home state of Colorado, with daily views of the sea. As I look west, I marvel that the next landfall is Australia, another faraway place I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d see on my own, much less with my kids.

And we did it.

With a gallon of sunscreen, I might add.

Life can’t be one constant vacation. Vacation is never a constant vacation, unfortunately. In a new locale, even the baggage sneaks its way in with the luggage, the raincoat with the flip-flops. Some things we always take with us. Our surroundings can’t cure what ails us but running toward instead of away from something definitely lightens the load.