What to Take

It's amazing how rich and rewarding something as simple as packing a bag can be. Here I am in Stillwater, OK., staring at a floor scattered with clothes, maps, books, toothpaste, and an assortment of other things. These things will define me over the next month. Language is perhaps the most defining means we have to express ourselves. I can explain how I am feeling, justify my actions, describe emotional states, and so on. I can tell you WHY I did this or WHY I am feeling this, and in this way you gain a better grasp of "who" I am. This is why I so desire meaningful conversation - it is a sharing of oneself with another.

And it is this desire of mine which will be stripped from me. This beautiful means by which one person may connect with another will be gone. I have a feeling that I will be talking to myself often, if only for a taste of language - one of many necessary steps toward insanity before I can truly call myself a philosopher.

So here on this brown tile floor sits the means by which I will connect with the world. I pick up various pairs of jeans, investigate them, and inquire into the kinds of impressions that they might make upon others. I look at each shirt carefully - should I wear anything with English text on it? Should I stick to dark colors? Should I choose comfort or conformity? Each bit of cotton passes through my hands and back into the closet, completely unaware of the power that I have now ascribed to it. For the first time in my life, I truly understand those that seek to define themselves with their wardrobe. I might wear the scrappy undershirt here in the states, but now I'm holding myself to a higher standard. After all, I want people to like me.

I am packing as light as possible, and it is looking as though I can get everything I need within a pack conforming to "carry-on" size. This would be ideal, and it looks promising.

There are two books which crown the pile of necessities, books which I have carefully chosen for this kind of trip. The first is "The Dharma Bums" by Jack Kerouac. I've heard incredible things, and I know that I will be able to relate and gain inspiration from Kerouac's travels. The second is "My Ishmael," a sequel to Daniel Quinn's life-changing "Ishmael." I can't think of another book that shook me so violently to my core. I hope to receive a second shaking. I need one.

I'm taking a journal which I will use when I do not have access to a computer, or when the details are too grotesque and explicit to relay here (joking). I also have the Let's Go guidebook which I have ripped apart, keeping only the relevant information attached to the spine.

In 48 hours I will be flying over Europe, with these things on my floor quickly turning into my livelihood. I'll sure miss the intimate conversations...