A few days ago, my forty-seven liter bag got too full.
It was funny because I knew everything should have fit, but for some reason it just didn’t. So I took some things out, did some rearranging and put some things back in. And all of a sudden I had plenty of room to spare. My pack was no longer at capacity.
I’ve been “at capacity” on this trip more times than I can count: capacity to sit uncomfortably, capacity to just keep on walking, capacity to ignore the heat or the flies or the rain that is pouring through the cracks in the roof of the bus I’m currently sitting on, soaking the left half of my body and making this a challenge to write. Yet each time I thought I was at my limit I would unpack my mind, rearrange some things, put some things back in, and find that I still had plenty of space, plenty of room to load some more things on and push myself a bit further.
I always knew this experience would teach me something, but I wasn’t sure what. Now I am starting to realise that this repacking, this rearrangement of thought that allows one to carry more, walk more, wait more than they think they can, is the real skill I’ll take away from this endeavor.
When will my pack really be full? When will I push myself so far that no rearranging can summon extra breathing room?
Maybe I don’t want to find out.
Maybe I do.