For much of my life, travel was synonymous with abundance. As my work took me around the world—hopping from bustling metropolises to serene, offbeat locales—I believed in being prepared for every contingency. My suitcase would bulge with “what ifs.” What if it rained? What if the temperature dropped unexpectedly? What if there was an unplanned formal dinner? Each scenario seemed to demand an addition to my luggage, and I’d proudly wheel a behemoth bag through every airport, convinced that I was ready for anything.
And then life decided to teach me otherwise.
A Forced Transformation
A few years ago, I underwent surgery that significantly impacted my ability to lift heavy weights. Overnight, my towering suitcase became an impossible burden. The luxury of excess had to be abandoned, not by choice, but by necessity. Suddenly, I had to rethink not only my packing but my approach to life.
It was humbling. But it was also the beginning of a profound realization: the less I carried—both physically and mentally—the freer I felt.
The Game of Essentials
The first trip after my surgery was daunting. Staring at my empty suitcase, I decided to play a game with myself: How little could I pack while still carrying everything I truly needed?
The rules were simple:
1. Only one bag.
2. Only what I loved or truly needed could go in.
At first, it was excruciating. My mind was crowded with doubts. What if I packed only one sweater and the weather turned colder than expected? What if I got stuck in a delayed transit and needed an extra book to read? I compromised by packing “just in case” items—an extra pair of shoes, a bulky raincoat—and found myself back where I started: overburdened.
But on that trip, something magical happened. As I lugged my overstuffed bag through cobbled streets, up narrow staircases, and into crowded trains, I realized that the weight I carried was not just physical. It represented fear—fear of being unprepared, fear of discomfort, fear of letting go.
Refining the Art
Over the years, I perfected my game of essentials. Each trip became a chance to whittle down what I carried. I started asking myself questions that reshaped my mindset:
• Do I love this item, or is it just a placeholder?
• Can I use one thing for multiple purposes?
• Will I regret not having this, or will I even notice its absence?
With each journey, I packed lighter and felt freer. I learned to carry only one sweater, the one I loved most, and embraced the elegance of repetition. One book, thoughtfully chosen, replaced the pile of unread ones I used to lug around. Six pairs of shoes dwindled to one versatile pair that worked for almost any occasion.
This wasn’t just about travel anymore. It became a philosophy for life.
Royal Minimalism: The Unexpected Discovery
Somewhere along the way, I realized that minimalism, when done right, isn’t about deprivation. It’s about refinement. It’s about curating your life with the precision of royalty—choosing only what truly matters, what adds value and joy. There’s a quiet luxury in walking into a hotel room, setting down a single bag, and knowing that everything inside is just right.
This approach transformed how I saw the world and my place in it. I began to apply the same principles to my relationships, my work, and even my thoughts. What if I carried only the emotional essentials—gratitude, love, curiosity—and left behind the baggage of regret, resentment, and worry?
The Lightness of Being
Today, I travel with a single bag, regardless of the length of my trip. It’s not just a practical choice; it’s a reflection of how I’ve chosen to live. Every item I pack has a purpose or a story. Every decision I make reflects an intentionality that brings me peace.
That surgery, which once felt like a limitation, became the catalyst for a richer, lighter life. I learned that happiness isn’t about carrying more—it’s about carrying better. It’s about trusting yourself to make do with what you have, to adapt, and to find beauty in simplicity.
Royal minimalism isn’t about living with less—it’s about living with grace, with essentials that feel like treasures. It’s about stepping into life lighter, freer, and more prepared—not for every hypothetical scenario, but for the wonder of the journey itself.