My life = a tramping pack

In the last couple of weeks I've sold my worldly possessions (including my car which has been in the family since 1993), shoved a few boxes under my parent's stairs and opened my wardrobe up to friends and family. The result? My life is now contained in a 17kg tramping pack.

Right now I'm looking at it wondering what I've forgotten but am resisting the urge to rip it to open to check. I'm only allowing myself to check my passport holder which has a million documents for my American visas which I jumped through several hundred hoops to get including declaring to the US Embassy that I had never participated in genocide. Seriously.

For some reason even though no-one else is in the room I keep opening that damn holder up every five minutes - I'm pretty sure nothing would've gone but I guess I am killing time until my Dad picks me up to drop me and my pack at the airport.

Thankfully for me I've managed to stagger my goodbyes as to be frank - I'm terrible at them. I tend to make awkward jokes or just hug and run. But that seems to run in the family so today Dad is going to literally let me out in the drop-off zone so we can both hug and run and there will be no emotional airport goodbye. Having said that my oldest brother, Dave, is not getting away so lightly. He is going to have to come in to Auckland Airport with me and sit with me until I go through to the Departure Lounge. I warned him about this weeks ago though so he should be prepared.

I fly from Auckland to LA then straight on to New York where my adventure will really begin and I'll probably remember what what it was that I forgot to pack.