Pre-Holidays Chaos

🧳”They Say Travel Expands The Mind, I Say It Exposes The Cracks” 🛫

I Love Travel

The idea of it.

The version that lives in a dopamine-soaked Instagram reel, all curated playlists and well-lit airport lounges. I love the version of me I pretend to be in the days leading up to a trip,  calm, competent, cosmopolitan.

The woman who wears linen on planes and has pre-packed minis of everything.

But in reality?

I am none of those things.

In reality, I am a woman pacing barefoot across her apartment at 3am, a half-zipped suitcase on the floor and a chaotic to-do list in her head. I am three tabs deep into Google, trying to figure out why my WordPress banner won’t update, while simultaneously refreshing tracking info for a last-minute Sephora order that may or may not arrive before takeoff.

And somewhere in between syncing calendars and soaking lingerie in the sink, I wonder…not for the first time… why prepping for rest always feels like a war.

Because this isn’t just about packing.

This is about disentangling myself from the thousand invisible threads that hold my everyday life together: the admin, the boundaries, the clients, the ghosted WhatsApp messages, the things I swore I’d deal with later that are now screaming “Later is now.”

There’s an art to leaving town. A ritual to releasing control.

But first, there’s chaos.

WhatsApp from clients who didn’t see the announcement that I’m away. Texts from men I’ve seen once, suddenly urgent, suddenly poetic, because they sense the window is closing. That one final booking might be the exception: “just a quick visit”.

Then there’s the packing audit.

The dry cleaning that wasn’t ready.

The dress I swore I’d take in, still too long. The “just in case” shoes that somehow weigh two kilos but feel morally impossible to leave behind.

And of course, the existential part:

The inner monologue that always shows up two days before departure, asking the big questions no one invited to this party:

Have I done enough?

Have I earned this break?

Will I be forgotten while I’m gone?

Am I allowed to disappear?

Because for people like me: people whose work is built on constant visibility, on emotional presence as a performance art, absence feels like risk.

Will clients find someone else?

Will my site glitch while I’m in the air?

Will I come back and feel irrelevant?

And somewhere in that neurotic spiral, I remember the woman I thought I’d be:

The woman with colour-coded packing cubes. The one who schedules blowouts and facials before flights.

The one who arrives at the airport with a hardcover novel and no sweat patches

.

I built her in my head. I wanted her to exist.But she’s a fantasy.

I’m tired of trying to become her.

Because the woman I  actually am: the one who can only drink a double espresso, plus a soy latte and a few pieces of fruit in the airport lounge, is real. 

And she’s earned this break, whether or not the to-do list is finished.

The irony is: half of my work is about teaching men how to be present. How to sit still in a moment.

How to feel.

But when it comes to my own rest?

I act like it’s something I have to deserve.

As if pleasure has to be purchased with burnout.

As if softness has to be postponed until after all the admin is done.

As if rest is something we buy, instead of something we claim.

So this time, I’m doing it differently.

I’m letting the chaos be part of the ritual.

The overstuffed suitcase. The messy inbox. The half-written blog post I meant to schedule. I’m letting it all come with me, not literally, but energetically.

As proof that I am human. Not a brand. Not a curated feed. Just a person, who deserves to leave town without finishing every task on the list.

And no, I won’t take that last-minute booking.

Because this time, I am choosing me.

Me, with my cashmere layers, my too-heavy skincare pouch, and my commitment to getting on that flight as an elegant woman, not a depleted one.

I will wear my platinum like armour. I will listen to jazz while I board.

I will let the undone things stay undone.

Because if I’ve learned anything from this life, it.

From Bitter-Sydney-Winter to tropical heat Kuala Lumpur. I am ready!