The Bag That Hasn’t Been Made Yet, Or Has It?

There’s a very particular honesty that comes out at 5:10 a.m. on little sleep, surrounded by luggage, negotiating gravity, logistics, and identity all at once. Travel days always expose the friction points—not just in packing, but in how we live inside our lives.

Two checked bags, a carry-on, a backpack—each one carrying a different layer of who you are. Clothes for multiple sizes because bodies change. Tools for making because creatives don’t travel light by nature. Backups for the backups because lived experience has taught you what fails at the worst possible moment. None of that feels like excess. It feels like memory. Like contingency wisdom. Like adaptation.

There’s something quietly funny—and humbling—about realizing that winter weight and island humidity conspire together to make last year’s wardrobe a gamble. We plan with precision, but fabric has opinions. And so does gravity when you’re lifting a carry-on overhead and silently negotiating with your shoulders about whether this is still a reasonable ask. The thought about the gym isn’t about vanity or fitness—it’s about sustainability. How do you keep doing this long-term without breaking yourself?

Electronics remain their own category of annoyance. The unpacking. The repacking. The mental juggling while standing in line. I’ve simplified where I can—consolidated down to one machine—but I no longer trust a single keyboard. Experience has cured me of that. Wireless for convenience, wired for the moments when nothing else works. On the island, I also need a keyboard that speaks English for me. Language will come later.

Flying first class turns out not to be luxury so much as math. When the upgrade costs about the same as paying for two checked bags, comfort becomes strategy. Fewer stress points. More margin.

And then there’s luggage—the eternal problem. The persistent belief that somewhere out there is a bag that understands how you actually travel. Or the quiet realization that you might need to design it yourself. A bucket backpack that docks cleanly onto a wheeled carry-on. Wheels that disappear when they’re not needed. Modular. Intelligent. Built for real movement instead of idealized travel ads. Of course someone has probably thought of it already. Most good ideas aren’t new. They’re just waiting for the person who’s tired enough of the problem to finally build the solution.

Nothing needs to be decided today. I’m tired. I’m traveling. I’m doing the thing.

And apparently, I’m still looking for the perfect bag.