The Suitcase
I’ve become part of a group popular media and comedians here in the states like to poke fun at: Women in their middle age who over think and over prepare for a trip. I noticed the spike in overthinking what to pack a few times this year: Preparing to go up north to a Wisconsin cabin with my family over Thanksgiving break. A quick trip to Durham, N.C. for a football camp. Even an impromptu trip to Chicago to explore.
In each case, I contemplated (well, over contemplated) what do I need? What might I need? What if the weather changes — good or bad? Do I have my art supplies? And all I need for self care and comfort? Do my sons have what they need? (They normally did; and with little thought, because they’re brilliant at not overthinking.)
The amount of time I overthought and re-packed, and removed things then added things back in shocked and frustrated me. I’d backpacked for years in my 20s — all through Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, and lived in Japan in three different cities and then San Francisco for years as a single woman, just fine, and with minimal “stuff.” Everything fit in one back pack. I owned so little, when moving in San Francisco, I’d cab from one flat to the next.
Packing for an upcoming trip to New Zealand has brought up epic over-thinking—and for some obvious and then deeper reasons. The superficial ones? Opposite season. (Unseasonably cool for New Zealand’s summer though.) I’m reuniting with family I’ve not seen in years and am so excited. I’m bringing my American family with — some have not yet met my teenage sons. And we’ve a wedding; so, fun things to plan and prepare for.
The weight limit (50 pounds) puts an interesting spin on things for a three-week trip. I’ve your normal healthy ailments, like allergies and occasional insomnia, and there’s lots I use to care for that. We’re bearing many gifts and bringing bits and bobs others have requested. But when I connect with dear coachees, 90% of whom are foreign born/and/or Americans who’ve moved far away from where they grew up, I’ve realized something deeper’s going on with this suitcase. (They over think their packing too, especially when going “home.”)
The suitcase and what we put in it, I’ve realized, has become a metaphor for our personal brand and how we want and need to show up for a familiar but then an occasional situation. In this case, going back to where we grew up. Even knowing you’re going back brings on inventory-like reflections on our success. Have I achieved my dreams, yet? Am I proud as I go back — if so, of what? If people ask (and many strangers do) how can you choose the U.S. over New Zealand, do I have an honest but non-defensive response?
How “well” or “not well” we’re doing can also bring up different responses and different barriers for the suitcase pack. When I’ve not earned well and my career goals have failed, I agonize on how I can look my best on a budget and not feel too dejected if anyone asked about my work. There’s a want, you see, when you’ve left all you know behind to come to a new land for your dreams, to show vs. tell: it’s worth it. I’ve not made a mistake here.
If you are doing well, and things have really panned out, then you’re not wanting (as a woman at least) to seem self promotional, braggadocios, holier than thou, or better than everyone else. Fear of judgment and fear of misjudgment can create cycles of indecision on closet and what to pack.
I’m also going back when my confidence, work, ideas and ambitions have never felt stronger. I’m writing, podcasting, and mid-way through a personal branding guide I’m co-authoring with Justyna Bak, my dear friend and a Google leader. I’m learning so much from coaching leaders all around the world and their amazing results boost my confidence. I’m coaching full time and know I’ve only just gotten started with where I’m taking this. I’m questioning myself less and know myself more.
And yet, the culture I come from (and how I remember it from so many visits back) can tend towards the shy, reserved, and gently rejecting of too much career drive and ambition. Traditionally, I’ve found that dichotomy between New Zealand and the U.S. can drive a wedge if not careful, and potentially even more so now.
So as typing all of this, it’s clearer: The packing of this suitcase brings on logistical questions around preparedness and questions on clothing, accessories, makeup, even gifts I bring to those I love: How bright and sparkly do I want to be, if at all? If I want to dress up a little, will that offend others who do not? Will I seem frivolous even caring? And then, does it really matter?
I’ve thought about this a lot, and realized it does matter, at least somewhat, because I want to stay consistent with the brand I’ve cultivated, live by, and consistent with how I coach others on theirs. I know to modify and adjust for different audiences — and to learn from them; New Zealand reminds us there’s so much more to life than work — a respite from a culture like the U.S. which can over index on work. But I don’t feel compelled to not be me. I have tried in the past and it erodes confidence and invokes loneliness.
Every visit back, strangers question where I’m from. I point to the ground in those moments to indicate that I’m a New Zealander, from this Earth; but they detect “it” whatever “it” is that makes me different. When they pry that I live in the U.S., it’s always, “Ah. That makes sense. I thought you were an American.” I laugh kindly that in America, nobody thinks I’m American at all. “You’re different,” they insist.
In Japan, the Kangi for “foreigner” is “outside person.” Moments like these remind me I’m an outsider in both lands; and yet this one has remained my chosen home, because I love the people (as much as I do Kiwis), so many dreams have come true here, my chosen family’s here, and I feel less outside here than anywhere else.
Getting back to my suitcase, which (as of 11 p.m. last night Chicago time) is packed but 6 pounds over the limit, here’s my strategy on getting it done and feeling great about my decisions: Be sensible. Be prepared. Be me. Also, avoid judging myself for the overthink. Homecoming here in the states celebrates high school alumni coming home and the students coming together while looking and feeling their best. Coming home to where I left is similar; it’s ok to want to look nice; but know the exterior of clothes and whatever else is only the veneer. How I feel inside is what I and others will remember.
Debbi Gardiner McCullough coaches and trains immigrant leaders to become more confident, concise, and mentally fit communicators. From Wisconsin, she owns and runs Hanging Rock Coaching and coaches worldwide with BetterUp.