Packing Light: Thoughts on Living Life with Less Baggage [NOOK Book]


What do you need to leave behind?

When I was in college, I figured my life would come together around graduation. I'd meet a guy; we'd plan a beautiful wedding and buy a nice house-not necessarily with a picket fence, but with whatever kind of fence we wanted. I might work, or I might not, but whatever we decided, I would be happy.

When I got out of college and my life didn't look like that, I floundered around, trying ...

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Packing Light: Thoughts on Living Life with Less Baggage

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What do you need to leave behind?

When I was in college, I figured my life would come together around graduation. I'd meet a guy; we'd plan a beautiful wedding and buy a nice house-not necessarily with a picket fence, but with whatever kind of fence we wanted. I might work, or I might not, but whatever we decided, I would be happy.

When I got out of college and my life didn't look like that, I floundered around, trying to figure out how to get the life I had always dreamed of. I went down so many different paths for it. Career. Travel. Friends. Relationships. But none of them were as satisfying as I hoped they would be. 

Like many twenty-somethings, I tried desperately to discover the life of my dreams after college, but instead of finding it, I just kept accumulating baggage. I had school loans, car payments, electronics I couldn't afford, a house full of mismatched furniture I didn't love but that had become my own, hurt from broken relationships, and unmet expectations for what life was "supposed to be" like.

Just when I had given up all hope of finding the "life I'd always dreamed about," I decided to take a trip to all fifty states...because when you go on a trip, you can't take your baggage. What I found was that "packing light" wasn't as easy as I thought it was.

This is the story of that trip and learning to live life with less baggage.

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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

"At 26, Allison Vesterfelt had a graduate degree and a job, but she felt like something was missing from what was supposed to be the climax of her life. So she gave up everything and embarked on a six-month cross-country road trip. In Packing Light, Vesterfelt, now an editor at Prodigal Magazine, tells her story in a beautiful, honest memoir that challenges us to reconsider what baggage we are carrying and what we need to leave behind." - Relevant Magazine. Relevant Recommends: Books. Issue 66.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780802485090
  • Publisher: Moody Publishers
  • Publication date: 8/26/2013
  • Sold by: Barnes & Noble
  • Format: eBook
  • Edition description: New Edition
  • Pages: 256
  • Sales rank: 216,189
  • Product dimensions: 5.25 (w) x 8.00 (h) x 0.00 (d)
  • File size: 3 MB

Meet the Author

ALLISON VESTERFELT is a reader, writer, thinker dreamer and the author of Packing Light, a book about learning to live life with less. She lives in Nashville, Tennessee with her husband Darrell. You can follow her daily on Twitter or Facebook.
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Read an Excerpt

packing light

thoughts on living life with less baggage

By Allison Vesterfelt, Stephanie S. Smith

Moody Publishers

Copyright © 2013 Allison Vesterfelt
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-8024-0729-0


plan a trip

"Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life."


It all started with a wedding. So many good stories do. There was a church, a big white dress, a bunch of bridesmaids, and then there was me. Getting ready alone. Driving to the ceremony alone. Sitting in the pew inches from friends, but still very much alone.

It wasn't the going alone part that bothered me. That much I had done at least a dozen times before. It was this strange feeling I was carrying with me—that may or may not have had anything to do with the wedding. It was a restlessness, a confusion, a tension. I was twenty-six years old, with a graduate degree under my belt and a job as a middle-school English teacher to show for it. This is what I had worked and waited for—what I had hoped would be the culmination of all my school loans, studying, and internships. This was supposed to be the climax—but it didn't feel like that. It felt like something was missing.

On the outside at least, many other things were coming together. I had been approved for a home loan, first of all. There was this beautiful condo in northwest Portland that had caught my eye, and I had decided to just see if I could buy it. It was quaint and small, barely big enough for just me, but it was walking distance to restaurants and boutiques and close to the highway I took to get to work. It was in the quiet part of the neighborhood, a few blocks from the commotion—just the way I liked it. And I had friends who lived within biking distance. I pictured dinner parties and dropping by just to say "hi" and calling at the last minute to see if we all wanted to grab dinner on one of Portland's perfect summer nights. I couldn't imagine anything better. And according to the broker I had talked to, I could afford it.

But every time I thought about taking the leap, something inside me resisted. It just didn't seem right. I didn't want to buy a house all by myself.

My friend Erica, on the other hand, wouldn't have to.

She looked beautiful as she made her way down the aisle to instrumental music, dragging tiny rose petals in her train trailing behind her. I was happy for her—I really was. I didn't feel the dull ache of jealousy I had in the past watching wedding after wedding.

But I felt the tiniest twinge of sadness. She was about to cross the threshold into married life—a line I wasn't sure I would ever cross—and things would never be the same. If I had learned anything in my twenty-six years, I had learned that.

Six years ago, it had happened to me for the first time, although there had been many others since. My college roommate got married. Before the wedding, we did everything together—eating together, doing homework together, watching afternoon reruns of Dawson's Creek together, sitting awake together in a sterile hospital room as her dad slowly faded away from life, until the pressing questions about God and life and what happens on the other side quietly subsided. But now, we didn't do anything together. She did all these things with her husband. Which meant I did everything alone. Including attend her wedding.

It was fine. I wasn't mad about it or anything. That's what you're supposed to do when you get married, right? You're supposed to do stuff with your husband. That's what getting married is all about, isn't it—the fact that you don't have to do stuff alone anymore. It's just that after several years of finding friends and getting attached to those friends, only to then watch them get married and lose them, you learn not to get too attached to anyone.

You don't disengage from friendships or give up on them forever, you just learn that they're more temporary than you once thought they were. You swear to yourself that you'll never be that way when you get married—but you know in your heart that the truth is, you probably will be—so you question if you even want to get married anyway. You learn the really important coping mechanism to single life: to be independent and take care of yourself. You learn to make the most about being alone.

That's exactly what I was thinking about as I watched Erica float down the aisle that day. I was thinking about how much I liked my single life, about how I didn't much mind being alone. I thought about how I could go anywhere I wanted to go, whenever I wanted to go there, and how I didn't have to ask permission before I spent money. I thought about how I could change jobs whenever I wanted, or move to a different part of town, or even a different city. I thought about how I was able to invest in my career, and my friendships, and my hobbies.

I wasn't just making this stuff up. I really felt it.

But as I sat in the pew and quietly watched Erica give her life to the man who stood in front of her, I couldn't get rid of this nagging question in the back of my mind: What was I supposed to give my life to?

After the ceremony ended, I drove carefully through the rainy November night to the reception, where cute little finger food options were offered on trays in the perfectly appointed ballroom. I helped myself to a glass of wine and planted myself on a couch off to the side, where I could watch the party unfold from a distance. That is how I liked it. Life on the sidelines. Low risk. Low-key. And really entertaining.

It was a strategy I had developed a long time ago, without putting much thought into it. Since I didn't really love big crowds, any time I went to an event where I had to be in a room full of people, I would position myself on the fringe of the room. Preferably, I could have my back against an outside wall and plant myself there for the duration of the evening. Usually, I would bring some food with me—rations to sustain me for the night—and also something to make me look like I was busy. Sometimes I would carry a book in my purse; sometimes I would use my phone. Sometimes I would scribble notes in a little notebook.

The benefit of this strategy was that I got to keep tabs on everybody. I got to watch the token single guy make a fool of himself with every single girl in the room, introducing himself and recycling the same cheesy jokes over and over again. I got to watch the "important" people in the room try to downplay their importance, and everyone else try to prove how "important" they were. I could make fun of people (secretly, of course, in my head) for telling jokes that tanked, or for going in for a handshake while the other person went in for a hug—or the most tragic, mistaking a high five for a hug request. That was the worst.

The other benefit of my strategic sidelining, I'll admit, is that no one could approach me from behind. This way, I was never shocked by anything. If someone wanted to talk to me, they could approach me from the front, like a civilized partygoer. I'm not sure why that was such a big deal to me. I think there must have been one too many tragic "cover-your-eyes-from-behind" experiences buried in my high-school psyche. I could keep track of who was friends with who, and who appeared to be nice, and who appeared to be no fun at all.

From my spot on the wall I could watch the whole party unfold. It was like charting the course of the story, with all of its characters, all sticky and messy and wonderful.

And if someone did want to talk to me, they knew where to find me. After all, I didn't move for the entire party. I wasn't really hard to track down. When they came to talk to me, I would be there—ready, with my food prop in place and my tone of voice prepared to meet them enthusiastically (if they were "that" type) or intellectually (because I overheard them talking about the Pleistocene era, and I googled it so I could know what it was).

This was the way to do a party, if you asked me.

I watched my friend Sharaya, one of the bridesmaids, throw her head back in laughter talking to three guys, none of whom I had seen before. Her blonde hair was pinned in a loose up-do and her dress curved flatteringly around her figure. I had watched her at church before, leading worship from stage, and thought about how beautiful she was, how stylishly put together. But tonight, with her high heels and perfectly applied lipstick, she looked more elegant than ever.

I was jealous of people like that, if I'm being honest with you—people who always looked elegant even when they were in the mess of the party, people who seemed to float through life laughing and making the most out of everything.

The problem was, it was impossible to hate her. She was like a cartoon character, always smiling and giggling and swooping in and out of scene after scene with another exciting story. Sharaya was the type of girl who would disappear and show up a few days later, saying she just couldn't help but take a quick trip to Los Angeles or Australia. Whatever. She was always going on flying trips or sailing trips or horseback-riding trips. I could never figure out where she met all these people with horses or boats or airplanes. I wondered if maybe she could introduce me to some of them.

One time she was dropped off at a Sunday night church service gripping a bag full of her belongings. It all happened so quickly that I swear the car didn't even stop all the way as she tumbled out the door. "Hello everyone," she seemed to say as she sashayed into the crowd. "I'm sorry I'm late," she told us, even though she wasn't late at all. "I got tied up wakeboarding." I couldn't figure it out. Her clothes weren't wet or wrinkled in the slightest. Her skin was flawlessly tanned so that she glowed a little, almost like she was wearing makeup, but there were no signs of mascara or eyeliner smudges under her eyes. Her hair was air-dried in this whimsical little ponytail that looked so perfect as it bounced on top of her head.

Sharaya and I couldn't have possibly been more different. We looked different, first of all. She was blonde, petite, and impossibly athletic. Every time I saw her, I wondered what her secret was to keeping her arms so toned. I, on the other hand, was tall with long, dark hair and equally long, gangly limbs. I had recently taken up running, as was the trend in Portland at the time, but I didn't dare play group sports or do any activity where someone could accuse me of throwing like a girl (because I did).

Sharaya was also free-spirited and fun, always making interesting conversation and smiling, even when she was the brunt of the joke. I was quieter—more serious but more imaginative too, the kind of girl who spends her weekends reading and organizing her closet.

And for my whole life, I had dreamed of being a writer.

When she walked up to me that night at the wedding, I should have known it would change my life forever.

The party was starting to pick up a bit. Everyone had eaten some food and the groom's younger brother had taken over the microphone, so just when things were starting to get interesting, Sharaya came and sat by me.

"Hey!" She greeted me warmly. "Want to come dance?" She might as well have been glowing.

"I don't think so ..." I told her.

"Come on!" she urged. "It'll be fun!"

I told her I wasn't much of a dancer and, besides, if I came to dance I would have to put down my glass of wine, and I wasn't sure I was willing to make that trade right now.

"Fair enough" she conceded.

Outside the party, the city of Portland looked beautiful, even with the gentle haze of rain settling over it. It had an eerie quality to it—gentle and melancholy. We looked west, toward the river. Rat's when I saw the billboard.

"I climbed up there once," I said, pointing to the billboard in the distance.

I hadn't planned to say it, but we were sitting there, and I wasn't sure what else to say, so it just popped out. This is why I stay on the perimeter of parties like this. I wasn't trying to impress her, at least not consciously, but I think that somewhere deep inside of me my subconscious was saying, "Hey, I might not have friends with airplanes, and I might not look like a hair model after wakeboarding, but my life is exciting too."

"Really?" she asked. "For what?"

"A friend made me do it," I said, and immediately regretted it, because it retracted any cool points I may have just earned. She looked at me expectantly.

"I mean, a friend and I climbed up there together," I corrected myself. "You can see the whole city."

She seemed interested.

"He and I looked out at the view and talked about life now and dreams we had for life someday," I told her. She raised her eyebrows a little.

"It's his job," I clarified. "Besides, he's not my type. He's always jet-setting off to other countries to go on skiing trips or jump out of airplanes. Actually, come to think of it, you two would make a great couple," I told her. "I should introduce you."

The newlyweds were on stage now, starting their first dance together.

"What would you do with your life if you didn't have to worry about money?" I said, after a minute. "That's the question he asked me while we were sitting up there."

"And?" Sharaya asked.

"It made me mad," I said, laughing a little. "He was trying to inspire me, but instead it just made me angry." I took another sip of wine.


"Because I was working a restaurant job at the time, trying to pay my way through graduate school. And not everyone has the luxury of living the way he lives. I don't know where he gets all of his money."

"Did you ever answer his question?" Sharaya asked.

"Yeah, I told him that if I really didn't have to worry about paying my bills—which I do by the way, everyone does—I would drive across the country and write a book about it." I shrugged. "But normal people don't get to just quit their lives and go on road trips." I ran my hands across the royal blue velvet couch, watching the way it changed colors depending on the direction of the nap.

"Where would you go?" she asked.

"Everywhere. All fifty states."

Outside, lights flashed, and we watched as the traffic stopped so the road could lift and a boat could pass under the Steel Bridge.

"You know, I've always wanted to travel across the country," she said.

"Really? What would you do?"

"Play music."

It didn't surprise me. She had a beautiful voice. I thought so every time I heard her sing at church. I just didn't know, until she told me, that she'd written a few songs of her own and was working to record her first album.

"It's just an EP," she said.

"Well, I don't even know what that is," I said. "So you've got me beat."

Over the next few hours Sharaya convinced me to get up from my seat and get into the fray of the party. I had a good time, I'll admit, watching the bride and groom shove cake into each other's mouths and meeting all of Sharaya's friends. She even got me to dance for a little bit.

But she wasn't quite done prodding me out of my comfort zone. At the end of the evening, when I was finally fishing my keys out of my purse, she suddenly asked, "So when are we going to go on that road trip?"

It was midnight, and the couple had just left. We'd blown bubbles at them as they drove away, and I couldn't believe I had stayed this late. I laughed a little and shook my head. I was proud of myself for getting off the couch, but a road trip? That wasn't going to happen.

It was a nice thought, I told her, but not in the slightest bit realistic. It would cost too much, first of all—between food, lodging, gas, and then anything unexpected like the car breaking down or someone getting sick. You had to plan for things like that. Plus, we both had jobs and apartments, and I had a roommate who was counting on me to pay rent each month. Even if we were to move out of our apartments, or quit our jobs, what would we do with all of our stuff? After all, I had worked really hard to get my job. Hadn't she? Four years of undergraduate. Two-and-a-half of graduate school. Internships. School loans. Sweat and sleepless nights and tears. Finally, I had the job I had worked for. What was I going to do, just quit? What would my parents say? What would our friends think?

"I'm twenty-six," I told her. "I don't think it's wise to be planning cross-country road trips."

"Listen, Ally," she said, looking directly at me. "I've been writing more music lately and wanting to play more shows in our area. I think this would be a great way to motivate myself to do that. And sure, you have a good job. So do I. But is this really what you want to do with the rest of your life? Or do you want to write a book? If we went on a road trip, you could write while we traveled. You could even keep a blog, and by the end of it, I think you might have your book. We could sell CDs along the way. We'd make some money that way, and we could order T-shirts too, and collect tips at each of my shows."

It seemed she had a way out for every objection I could come up with.

Excerpted from packing light by Allison Vesterfelt, Stephanie S. Smith. Copyright © 2013 Allison Vesterfelt. Excerpted by permission of Moody Publishers.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Introduction: Where the Journey Begins
1: Plan a Trip
2: Pack Your Bags
3: Say Goodbye
4: Embrace the Unexpected
5: Roadblocks
6: Change Your Expectations
7: When You Don't Pack Light Enough
8: The Things You Have to Leave Behind
9: Losing Your Way
10: Open Hands
11: Choose Your Path
12: The Mourning After
13: Three Feet from Gold
14: Write Your Own Book
Afterword: The Way You Pack

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 6 )
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Sort by: Showing all of 6 Customer Reviews
  • Posted September 11, 2013

    more from this reviewer

    Challenged and Changed Although 'Packing Light' is a quick read

    Challenged and Changed

    Although 'Packing Light' is a quick read, Allison Vesterfelt will leave you challenged and changed, never to look at your "stuff" in the same way again.

    With an engaging writing style and great use of foreshadowing, you'll feel as if you're in the backseat of Ally and her friend's Subara on their fifty-state road trip, not once asking, "Are we there yet?" Along the way, Ally asks more questions than gives answers and unpacks the seemingly simple story of the "rich young ruler," revealing the layers of baggage we are all carrying. While thoughtfully written, at times 'Packing Light' may be too carefully pinned together, the rough edges too sanded down.

    'Packing Light' is a good read. And I'm looking forward to seeing where Ally takes us next.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted September 3, 2013

    more from this reviewer

    I'm in a bit of a quarter life crisis. Having graduated college

    I'm in a bit of a quarter life crisis. Having graduated college and not yet into a job so life feels stuck. This book has helped catapult me into place where, I'm still scared but I know that moving forward is sometimes what we have to do. Ally deftly weaves the trip and her interpersonal journey to create a compelling story about life, change and what being an engaged worshipper of God does to your life. This is a book you won't want to put down and a book that will inspire you to go do something!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted June 1, 2014

    more from this reviewer

    Hott Synopsis: What is holding you back? You know you have bag

    Hott Synopsis:
    What is holding you back?
    You know you have baggage. Everyone does. But have you taken an honest look at the things around you and the feelings inside you? When you do you’ll begin to see that you’re being weighted down.
    That’s not what Jesus intended for us. He intended for us to be free from baggage to follow Him without limits — Let Packing Light show you where your baggage is hiding and open yourself up to follow Him!

    Hott Review:
    This was quite an interesting book. There were many things discussed and learned that each of us really should experience. I still wonder “what if”. Not that I’m unhappy with my life because I love it but I do wonder if I’m on the path that was intended for me and if I’m still learning lessons and releasing baggage that should have been finished long ago.

    Author: Allison Vesterfelt
    Source: Moody Publishers via Netgalley
    Grade: B
    Ages: 18+
    Steam: Nada

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted September 11, 2013

    In a refreshingly down to earth manner that makes readers feel a

    In a refreshingly down to earth manner that makes readers feel as if they're chatting with her in a coffee shop, Allison tells how, at the urging of her musician friend Sharaya Mikael, she gave up her comfortable yet routine, missing-something life as a teacher in Portland, Oregon to embark with Sharaya on a six-month, 50-state road trip, writing and playing music for funds, staying with friends of friends. Because, you see, yet another friend had asked her the question so beloved by life coaches: "What would you do with your life if you didn't have to worr about money?" Ally's response: "I would drive across the country and write a book about it." A nice but completely unrealistic thought, she adds. But of precisely such unrealistic thoughts are books sometimes born. From the obligatory visit to Mt. Rushmore (something of a letdown) to their first attempt at busking when funds are low and bookings non-existent (at least for a few days), the journey is exhausting, exhilarating, frightening and frustrating. Inhibitions and possessions are jettisoned along the way, as is a budding relationship. A devout Christian, at times Ally sees direct examples of God's provision and confirmation of what she believes she was created to do, while at others she longs to cry out that she is nothing but a fake, wondering how she can possibly go on blogging about the joys of "packing light" when letting go seems only to leave her empty-handed. And as her journey nears its close, she struggles with what to call herself: teacher? Road manager? Publicist? As well as the eternal question, "What next?" All of us carry baggage of some sort. Some of it is necessary, some not. Learning to tell the difference is another matter. As Ally asks at one point, "Are there some things in life we should never let go of? Is learning to let go as important as learning to hold on? How do we know when to do which?" Perhaps the book's most valuable lesson is simply the nudge to ask such questions in the first place.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 8, 2013

    Well-written, insightful, and inspiring. This is a must read for

    Well-written, insightful, and inspiring. This is a must read for anyone who is or feels like they're holding on to too much baggage whether it's emotionally, physically, or both. It helps put things into perspective and realize that sometimes, taking a risk is worth the fear that comes with it.

    - Kim U

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 1, 2013

    What do you take, and what do you leave behind? As Ally Vesterfe

    What do you take, and what do you leave behind?
    As Ally Vesterfelt and her friend set off on a 50 state adventure, their car is perfectly packed.  They have
    everything they need for the road ... or so they think.  What they discover is that very often, skirts, coolers,
    and even cars can be easily replaced.  Attitudes, fears, and relationships are the hardest things to let go,
    and the most important things to hold on to.

    In her lyrical, humble voice, Allison Vesterfelt encourages readers to consider what they really need to
    fully lean into a life of faith, and what they must be willing to leave behind to find glimpses of Heaven
    here on earth.
    Packing Light is far and away the best memoir I have read all year.  I highly recommend it.

    - Stephanie Gates

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
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