There’s a certain magic in starting over and letting go of baggage. I felt it humming inside a single, slightly over-stuffed suitcase on the hot summer evening my family and I left our home country in the southern hemisphere for America.
I can still picture us in the departure hall—Keith balancing Sammy’s guitar on one shoulder. Meanwhile our teenager hugging her carefully packed tote, and me squeezing three passports so hard their corners bent. We thought the airline allowed only one suitcase apiece, so each of us rolled what felt like an entire lifetime across the polished tiles. Behind the glass, our eldest daughter, Maxi, midway through her university term, waved bravely. Expecting she would follow later became a heart-ache that never healed. I also falsely believed America welcomed whole families—until I learned the rule applies only to children under 21 and financially dependent. Instead an immigration-attorney error split our household, a pain I will live with 'til I leave this lifetime —but that’s a story for another day. In that moment, all I had control over was letting go of baggage, literal and emotional, and stepping onto the plane.
Letting Go of Baggage: The Gift Hidden in a Mix-Up
I’ll admit it: the fine print and I have never been close friends. Somewhere in the small-type jungle of baggage rules was a clause permitting two cases per person. That oversight could have set off panic, but instead it became a blessing in disguise.
When we unlocked the door to our small Chapel Hill apartment, there was almost an echo. Three suitcases, the air mattresses and us. No familiar furniture to catch the eye, no closets bulging with “just in case” items—only wide off white walls begging for a fresh chapter.
And in that emptiness, I discovered a freedom I’d never tasted before. With so little, every object had to earn its place. A WW2 autograph book from my grandmother felt like a treasure museum. Sammy’s lone stack of sketchbooks and her laptop turned a corner into an art studio. Keith's loud and booming voice would reverberate throughout the apartment and the empty space became possibilities.
Culture Shock at 50
Immigrating at any age rewires your senses, but turning 50 added an extra twist. My husband suggested our decision to move was the result of my midlife crisis and my new to me convertible might just have confirmed his suspicion. Outdoors, the street names felt unfamiliar, the supermarket stocked brands I’d never heard of, and even the silence was different—it hummed with the promise of reinvention. The shock wasn’t good or bad; it was simply new. Like walking into a movie halfway through and realizing you’re suddenly the main character.
Having almost no “stuff” accelerated the learning curve. Instead of unpacking boxes for days, we explored the neighborhood farmers’ market, deciphered coins and bus routes, and swapped stories with neighbors that cared to talk to us. Every outing replaced something I might have purchased with an experience I could never lose.
Letting go of Baggage: What One Suitcase Taught Me
- Most of what we cling to is optional.
- Memories weigh nothing. You carry them whether or not the photo albums make the flight.
- People matter more than possessions—but you already knew that. Living it is the revelation.
Sometimes life hands us a dramatic reason to let go—a move across continents, a milestone birthday, an empty nest. Other times it whispers, “What if you traveled lighter?” The question is the same for you: What are you still carrying that no longer serves you?
An Invitation to Travel Light
Learn from my lesson dear reader. My challenge to you today – open your metaphorical suitcase tonight. Decide what—physical, emotional, even digital baggage—no longer deserves the luggage fee. Donate it, delete it, discard it, or, if it holds a lesson, thank it and set it free. Re-create you and re-create your life and your dreams. Everything you need or want is right inside your very being.
When your hands aren’t gripping yesterday’s belongings, they’re open wide for tomorrow’s surprises: the friend you haven’t met, the hobby you never thought to try, the version of yourself who can cross any ocean.
In the end, moving with just one suitcase taught me that the only thing we ever need to pack is love—and that, mercifully, never exceeds the weight limit.
