Page 15 of From Wink to Kink

Twenty minutes later, I step back to survey the damage. My 'to-pack' book pile has become a 'to-pack' mountain, threatening to topple over and bury me in a literary avalanche.

For Christ’s sake, I’m only going for one week. But I eye the books longingly. One of my worst fears is to be stuck somewhere without anything to read. So, to supplement the books I’ve chosen, I download as many ebooks as I can from the library.

Satisfied I have enough to reading material for the next several years, I take a deep breath. "Okay," I say to the judgmental silence of my room, "maybe I got a little carried away."

As I'm debating whether I can eliminate even additional paperbacks and more fully rely on ebooks, my phone buzzes with a text from my brother.

Sis, how's packing? Don’t bring too many books you nerd!

I glare at the phone. "Traitor," I mutter. But he has a point. With a heavy sigh, I start returning books to the shelf.

All good, dork

An hour later, I've managed to whittle my book selection down to a mere... fifteen. Hey, it's progress and the best part is I’ve had no anxiety attacks doing so. I turn back to my suitcase, ready to tackle the clothing situation again.

That's when I spot it. The Costa Rica retreat brochure, the one I swiped from the bulletin board at work, peeking out from under a discarded packing cube. I pick it up, scanning the itinerary for the hundredth time.

"Sunrise hike on the beach," I read aloud. "Meditation workshops. Nature hikes. Organic cooking classes." My eyes widen in horror. "Oh God, when am I supposed to read?"

Panic sets in. What was I thinking, agreeing to this? A week without books? Isn’t this supposed to be a librarian retreat? Don’t they know what bookworms we are? Maybe I can fake a sprained ankle to get out of the physical activities. There’s got to be some downtime, right?

Just as I'm considering if I can feasibly fill my water bottle with coffee instead of water—I know this is a wellness retreat but they can’t deprive me of my morning caffeine, please, no—my eyes land on the last item on the itinerary—free time for personal reflection and relaxation.

Ohthankgod.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe this won't be a total literary drought. I'll just have to be strategic about my book choices. Quality over quantity.

With renewed determination, I turn back to my packing. I may not be able to bring everything I want, but I'll be damned if I'm not the best-read girl on the beach.

As I'm carefully wedging into my suitcaseThe Collected Works of Jane Austen—that counts as one book, right?—a thought occurs to me. Maybe this retreat isn't just about finding inner peace or perfecting my yoga poses. Maybe it's about finding a balance—between the comfort of my beloved books and the adventure of trying something new.

I take a good look at my suitcase and heave another sigh. It’s overflowing. Way too many books. I have to stop.Just stop. So I remove each and every book, and force myself to focus on putting each one back on the shelf in its proper spot. I have some hard decisions to make.

I limit myself to two books for my suitcase and one for my carry-on. Deciding between a long epic fantasy and a shorter, smutty romance, I put them both in my suitcase and zip it closed before I can change my mind. I pick a thriller for the flight and I’mdone.

Back to my clothing.

I pause, flip-flops in one hand, and imagine sand between my toes instead of my old bedroom carpet, the sound of waves instead of Dad downstairs hollering at a baseball game on TV, and most importantly, the thrill of a new experience instead of the same old-same old.

"Alright, Costa Rica," I say to my stuffed suitcase, "let's see what kind of story we can write together."

With that, I climb into bed and read until I fall asleep.

8

RUBY

Finally.

Today is the day.

My plane leaves at nine thirty, and roughly eight or so hours after that, I’ll be landing in sunny Costa Rica.

I happy dance my way into the bathroom for a quick shower. After drying my hair and dressing in my travel outfit of khaki shorts, a green T-shirt, and slip-on shoes—the blue clogs will have to sit this trip out—I grab my matching green bucket hat for later. I lug everything downstairs, leaving it by the front door, and go to the kitchen.

Then I laugh. Dad left me a note propped up on the coffee pot, with the words ‘eat me’ above an arrow pointing right. Beside the coffee pot is a half of an everything bagel just waiting to be toasted. We share a bagel almost every morning. It’s a silly thing, but I love it more than I can say.

Not five minutes later, Matthew knocks on the door. We get my things loaded into his car after he bitches for five minutes straight that my suitcase is too heavy, and we’re off to theairport. I’m going to miss him. I’ll even miss my boring daily routine a little. But this is an adventure, and one I’m ready for.

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