I hate packing. I really do. Despite the image I project of overall “having it togetherness” and organization, I always wait until the last minute to pack. People who pack a week or even a day ahead of time confound me.  I almost always pack within an hour or two of when I’m supposed to walk out the door. In high school I always had my friend Ellen come over to sit on my bed for moral support while I packed for trips. In college I had my roommates keep me company as I begrudgingly loaded the suitcase. Somehow packing alone often seems more than I can bear.

Now, here I am the night before a much-anticipated ten-day trip to Maine and I can’t seem to get myself to put even one, lowly flip-flop into my suitcase. I could understand dreading packing for a trip I didn’t want to go on, but I’m really excited to go home tomorrow. So I’m writing instead of packing. Which seems like a good use of my time given my re-commitment to 21.5.800 the other day when Bindu decided to extend it for an extra ten days. (Thanks girl. You’ve given me a reason to postpone the packing for another hour or so.)

This tendency towards last-minute packing is genetic. My dad would take a big hero, winter camping trip every year when I was growing up. Inevitably, the night before he was leaving, he would take a late-night trip to L.L. Bean’s flagship store ten minutes up US Route One from our house. When I say late night I mean 1:00 or 2:00am…far past normal camping supply shopping hours. (Luckily L.L. Bean in Freeport, Maine is open twenty-four hours a day. Fun fact: the store was built without locks on the doors because it’s never closed. Not once. Not ever.)

When my dad does finally put things in a suitcase, though, it is done with the same exquisite attention to detail as a French pastry chef crafting a mille-feuille. Witnessing my father pack a bag reminds one that God is in the details. If you’ve ever seen the film As Good As it Gets you may recall the scene when Jack Nicholson is preparing for his road trip with Helen Hunt. His garments, toiletries, music collection, and accessories are laid out on the bed with the same care one might organize and itemize the crowned jewels. My mom and I burst into hysterical laughter when we watched the movie because it was as though they had stolen the idea for the scene from my father’s life. I shall be eternally grateful for the acute special awareness and attention to visual detail that I inherited from my dad (and for the fact that this attention to detail leans toward obsessive compulsive behavior in only small, isolated and rather insignificant moments.) No one can pack a bag, a trunk, or a cooler like my dad. If you want to put more things in a space than that space should seemingly be able to hold, Dr. Kenneth Moller, III (aka, my dad) is your man.

Its not intense attention to detail that derails me with my packing, though. (The above story about my dad has been included more for interest and packing history than as an explanation for my aversion to the activity itself.) I think it has more to do with the fact that I gain a great sense of security and confidence from knowing that I have the right outfit for a given occasion. When I was in elementary and middle school I would lay my school clothes out the night before in the shape of a little human beside my bed, complete with socks, underwear, and accessories layered in and placed in the appropriate locations. My mother would often bet startled when she came to tuck me in because it looked like there was a random person lying on my floor. When I’m nervous about a presentation or event, if I can simply visualize myself in the correct outfit everything suddenly seems as though it’s going to be okay. So I think its safe to say that my procrastination around packing has to do with my obsession with the “perfect outfit.” Since it’s unlikely that I will ever truly put together the “perfect outfit” I am probably avoiding packing because I have set myself up for inevitable failure.

I am aware that this chronicling of my packing neurosis may make me sound vain. I mean seriously, my confidence and sense of security in the world comes from having the “perfect outfi”t? Yes. I suppose I’m somewhat proud to answer affirmatively to that question. Because the truth is, if I know that everything is in order on the outside —if my hair looks okay, my nails are done, my eyebrows are waxed, my outfit is rocking, and I’m not sporting any runs, wrinkles, stains, or smears —then I can let what’s on the inside really shine on through. And most of the time what’s on the inside is pretty great, valuable stuff that’s worth sharing, especially if I feel like it’s packaged in the right ensemble.

So thanks for reading as I unraveled my packing aversion. I always know that there’s something bigger behind the silly things in life that I avoid. Avoidance is incredibly rich with information about what’s going on below the surface. For me it seems that my avoidance is a layer of procrastination icing on a cupcake of perfectionism and a desire to have everything under control. It’s fun when all roads of self-exploration lead pretty much back to the same destination. At least I’m consistent.

Okay, there’s an empty suitcase calling my name…and some perfect outfits to be planned and packed.

What tasks are you avoiding?

Do you like to pack?

Do you have any tips on packing?

What do you think is below your procrastination or avoidance?

Glimpse TV: Episode 1, Bindu Wiles from Kate Northrup on Vimeo.

Today is the birthday of Glimpse TV. This show was conceived when I decided that I wanted to incorporate one of my favorite things, talking to interesting people about interesting things, into my online presence. (Plus I was introduced to Zach Galifianakis’s online talk show Between Two Ferns, which is pure comic genius and makes me pee my pants every time I watch it. I figured, if he could have a talk show online with little-to-no production value, so can I.) My coach at the time asked me if I had ever considered being on TV. I hadn’t, but the seed was planted. Now, about six months later, I am proud to announce Episode 1 of Glimpse TV, a show about falling in love with your life. Yeah, sometimes my guests and I may seemingly veer off that topic, but I promise you it all relates back to being dedicated to the art, practice, and science of loving life.

Its apropos that Bindu Wiles is my guest on the first episode of Glimpse TV because she was the main instigator who got me on Twitter, and getting on Twitter was the main inspiration for me to begin my blog and create an online presence. Bindu’s 21.5.800 project lit a fire under my tush to get her on to talk about the community of support she has inspired with her own commitment to her writing and yoga practice. And given that the project has a time limit, it was the perfect reason for me to finally launch Glimpse TV, given that I’ve been talking about it (and filming interviews) for months.

A big thank you to Danielle LaPorte because it was at her tweetup where I first happened upon the delightfully hilarious and enigmatic Bindu Wiles who told me that, in so many words, I was an idiot if I wasn’t on twitter. It was love at first tweet. A very special shout out to Danielle Vieth, my brilliant and dear friend who named the show, to USANA Health Sciences who gifted me my Flipcam for Christmas, to the really nice guy at Radio Shack who sold me their last tripod, and to Dyana Valentine for being a gorgeous and entertaining rooftop camera woman today (my episode with her will air in the next few weeks —she gives a three-step process for turning yourself on to your life —it’s brilliant and not to be missed.)

Enjoy the next eight minutes filled with Bindu’s articulate, profound, grounded, and vulnerable musings (as well as her hot new haircut and aviatorss —plus me laughing a lot.) On deck for future episodes are Dyana Valentine, Sera Beak, Dr. Lissa Rankin, Melanie Ericksen, Karen Salmansohn, Helen Kim, Dr. Christiane Northrup, Alisa Vitti, and Dr. Deborah Kern.

Lights, camera…Glimpse!

Subscribe to my YouTube channel to get all of Glimpse TV in one place.

“The irony of commitment is that it’s deeply liberating – in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.” ~Anne Morriss, Starbucks customer from New York City. She describes herself as an organization builder, restless American citizen, optimist.

I read this quote on the back of a Starbucks mug in May of 2009 days before I was leading a teleseminar on “The Joy of Commitment.” The synchronicity of it was so beautiful and I’ve saved it on my fridge ever since to remind me daily of yet another way to live a more free life.

The other day on Tim Ferris’s blog I read a brilliant article by Claire William’s entitled “The Choice Effect,” in which Williams suggests that the reason so many people are single these days is because of limitless choices. I’m so grateful to have been born during a time and in a place that gives me lots of choices. I can be anything I want to be. I can go practically anywhere I want to go. I’m blessed to have no major limitations as far as who I can date…my family is totally open to whomever I choose and so am I. I don’t have any major criteria that would limit my choices such as religious affiliation or a preference for a specific racial or cultural background. But sometimes I feel debilitated by the number of choices available to me as a single 27-year-old woman living in New York City. There are times when I fantasize about having come of age during the 1950’s when I could have gotten married, become a nurse, or become a teacher. Simple. Just pick the best out of three. I like prix fixe menus. I like shopping at small boutiques with fewer options. I do my shopping in Maine instead of New York City because I find that I’m calmer and more productive when I have fewer choices. I find it’s easier to commit when there are only a few options and it’s a huge relief too.

I spent forty days as a member of the crew on a 135’ wooden schooner in my early twenties where we stood military watch, sailed and did oceanographic research 24 hours a day. While in some ways it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done and there were times when I fantasized about somehow physically hurting myself so that a rescue helicopter would come and take me home, it was also incredibly freeing because there weren’t many choices to make. I was committed to a lifestyle without regular showers, without a phone of any kind, and with no email for forty days. Someone else told me when to wake up, when to steer the ship, when to haul away, when to swab the deck and when to eat. A great calm settled over my mind during this time. I saw the amount of energy and space in my brain that’s usually taken up every day by making a million decisions. My skin has never been clearer than it was during this trip (usually stress leads to breakouts for me) and I lost a whole bunch of weight. I really got it how freeing it is to narrow the field of choices. And that freedom often comes from commitment.

Gretchen Rubin author of The Happiness Project talks about the fact that research shows that people who research decisions extensively don’t make better decisions than those who simply look at a few choices and then make the decision in less time. It’s one of her Secrets of Adulthood: “Most decisions don’t require extensive research.” I so agree with her on this. Plus it saves time, which is simply practical.

When reminding people (mostly people who are me, myself and I) about the importance of commitment and simply making a choice, any choice, I often use a train analogy. The analogy is that you’re standing on a train platform and a train is pulling out of the station. Rather than debate about if it’s the right train, if it has the most comfortable seats, if it’s going express or local, if it will have a good view, if its destination is exactly where you want to go, if the bathrooms are clean and if they serve organic, locally grown produce in the café car, I think most of the time it’s best to just get on the train. If it turns out that you want to get off later, just get off at the next stop. But it’s better to be traversing the beautiful countryside and moving somewhere than to be stuck in endless internal debate alone on a platform somewhere.

I love what Anne Morris says about the irony of commitment being that it’s “deeply liberating.” It’s liberating because there is no “right” choice. There simply is the choice that we’re making in this moment. And then there’s the choice we’re going to make in the next moment. Yes, making a commitment today means I’m not choosing a whole bunch of other options. But it also means that tomorrow I’ll have wonderful things I’ll have the chance to commit to that I never could have imagined had I not made a choice to commit to something today. And sometimes, like when I was living on the boat, committing to something and narrowing the range of choices makes you feel free. And calm. And present. And really, isn’t that the point anyway?

So thanks Bindu for 21.5.800 and inspiring 400+ of us to commit to our minds, our bodies, each other, and ourselves. I have wavered and wiggled in my commitment to 21 days of yoga and writing. But I can feel the commitment to this practice changing me on a cellular level and, as Bindu wrote on discipline today (which could be interchanged here for commitment in some ways), it “can take your life from the level of amateur to professional.” There is great freedom in commitment. There is tremendous worth in simply making a choice. Pick a train, any train. Just choose. Just commit.

Day 1 of 21 of Bindu Wiles’ 21.5.800 project. I slept 8 hours last night. I woke up feeling more or less refreshed (though still a bit hungover from a weekend without much sleep, no alcohol involved.) I meditated first thing. I weighed myself and noticed I have dropped 3.5 lbs since I stopped having caffeinated coffee, dairy, sugar, refined carbs and wheat, even though I ate dinner really late last night and went to bed on a full stomach. So how do I feel? Hopeful. Satisfied. In control.

In control. That one is sticky and tricky and sneaky. I believe ever-so-strongly in the power of responsibility and personal choice. It’s one of my highest values. And I love the feeling of being in control. Ah, Control . . . she’s a seductress wielding to-do lists and Filofaxes and well-filled-out calendars. She’s an excellent driver and has a laser sharp sense of direction. She’s clear about her desires. She’s decisive. She’s a top-notch negotiator, and her motto is: “Clarity is power.” I love her because she makes me feel safe. She sits next to me as I schedule my days within an inch of my life and tells me how fabulous I am. She whispers in my ear as I organize dates with men who, smiling, uneasily fall into the fold of my agenda. Planning is her religion. She makes me feel safe.

Her sister, Surrender, doesn’t come around as much, but when she does, Control is nowhere to be found. There’s no animosity between the two, they simply understand that both are happier and better able to flourish when the other isn’t around. Surrender wears chiffon and walks like she’s floating. She sings a lot and never knows what time it is. She uses her intuition to make decisions and she giggles with delight when the world pleasantly surprises her eight million times a day. She takes bubble baths. She chooses things based on what feels good. She calls quietly to me to do nothing but watch the steam wind its way out of my teacup. She invites me to allow other perfectly capable people to make decisions. She likes to sit in the passenger’s seat and look out the window as someone else drives. She loves limbo, the grey area, liminal space, and the unknown. When Surrender is visiting I feel a bit wobbly and nauseous. Yet, when she leaves and I think back on our time together, it always seems that everything worked out perfectly and things happened that were so much better than anything I could have planned or even thought up on my own.

I once was upset with a boyfriend who I was berating for never stepping up and planning anything. I felt like I was always suggesting dates, organizing the details, and taking care of logistics. I wanted him to take the reins sometimes. He replied lovingly, “I would gladly take the reins if you would simply let go of them.” Wow. The hydrogen peroxide sting of truth.

I’m an Aries warrior princess and I like to be in control. I’m a natural leader and the CEO of a company 750 strong and growing. I like being in the driver’s seat.This weekend I was in Chicago and my friend Brian, possibly the most chivalrous and highly-capable man on the planet, was showing my cousin and I around the beautiful windy city (named that not because of the weather, but actually because of politics. Who knew?) I have never been to Chicago before and I had no clue where we were headed as he led us to a restaurant he had in mind. As we came to a crosswalk I felt myself leading him to turn left —and he followed! We looked at each other and burst into laughter as I realized that I was taking the reins to direct a man in a city he’s lived in for his entire life and that I’d never been to, to a restaurant I had never been to, nor did I have any clue as to where it was. But I had such a strong instinct to turn left that he’d actually followed my lead, and didn’t realize it until we had walked a few steps in that direction. My homegirl Control strikes again — as we say in my family, “Seldom right, but never in doubt.”

I clearly don’t have this one figured out. I’m an enthusiastic backseat driver and as I look at my calendar for the week ahead, and even the summer ahead, there’s barely time to breathe — and this makes me happy on some level. I’m sheepishly and delightfully aware, though, of how my instinct to control edges out possibilities for magic, wonder, and synchronicity. I have no conclusion other than a wee prayer: May Control be at my side only when absolutely necessary (such as when I’m paying my taxes or driving on a crowded freeway.) May I learn to trust that Surrender has my back just as much as Control, perhaps even more so sometimes. May I have faith in the wisdom of letting go. May I allow someone else to do it sometimes, whatever “it” is. May I Surrender.