Packing day: the tetris challenge begins

Sitting on my living room floor, surrounded by piles of clothing, toiletries, and gadgets, I've come to an important realization: packing for 500 days is essentially impossible.

I've spent the entire morning playing what I'm now calling "Backpack Tetris" - trying to fit my life into a 65-liter backpack. So far, I'm losing badly. The backpack sits in the middle of the room, looking somehow both overstuffed and inadequate at the same time.

The first three attempts followed a logical approach: essentials first, then nice-to-haves, then luxuries if space allowed. But each time I got to the end of the essentials list, the backpack was already bulging at the seams. Time for a different strategy.

For attempt number four, I emptied everything and started with a simple question: "Will I actually use this in the next month?" If the answer was no, it went into a new pile labeled "ship later or buy there." This has been surprisingly effective, if a bit anxiety-inducing.

My neighbor Astrid stopped by around noon with homemade kanelboller (cinnamon rolls). She laughed when she saw the state of my living room.

"It looks like your closet exploded," she said, handing me a still-warm roll and settling into my armchair.

"I'm trying to pack for every possible situation in every possible climate," I explained between bites. "It's not going well."

"Ruben," she said with the patience of someone who has traveled far more extensively than I have, "they sell clothes in other countries too."

Sometimes you need an outside perspective to see the obvious.

After she left, I ruthlessly culled my piles. The "definitely taking" stack is now much smaller: 7 shirts instead of 12, 3 pairs of pants instead of 5, and so on. I've limited myself to two pairs of shoes plus the ones I'll wear on the plane. My first aid kit has been reduced to the essentials rather than preparing for every medical scenario short of major surgery.

The tech pile was harder to reduce. As someone who works with computers, I'm drawn to gadgets like a moth to flame. But I've managed to be somewhat reasonable: laptop, phone, compact camera, e-reader, necessary chargers, and a small power bank. No tablet, no extra external hard drive, no fancy noise-canceling headphones (though I might regret that last one during long flights).

One thing I refuse to compromise on: I'm taking 500 grams of Norwegian coffee beans. They'll at least get me through the first few weeks until I can find a decent replacement. Some might call it wasted space; I call it essential for mental health.

The afternoon was spent handling practicalities - confirming my travel insurance covers everything from minor illnesses to major disasters, making copies of important documents, and setting up international banking access. Not the most exciting tasks, but necessary.

I made another important decision today: I'm not taking my watch. For 49 years, I've lived by the clock, arriving precisely 10 minutes early to everything. Maybe it's time (no pun intended) to experience life without that constant awareness of minutes ticking by. I'll still have my phone for when timing actually matters, but I'm curious to see if I can learn to move through the world without constantly checking my wrist.

With only a week left before departure, the countdown feels very real. The hospital IT department sent over the final paperwork for my sabbatical today. Seeing "Return date: January 9, 2027" in black and white made my stomach do a little flip. That date feels impossibly far away - a future version of myself I can barely imagine.

Tomorrow I need to visit the bank and finish a few administrative tasks. Then maybe I'll treat myself to dinner at that little place by the harbor - might be my last chance for a while.

For now, though, I'm going to attempt Backpack Tetris round five. I'm determined to make everything fit without breaking the laws of physics.

496 days to go. The adventure is about to begin, one carefully packed item at a time.