Learn Efficient Packing Tips from a Disabled Traveler

Last summer, I embarked on a three-week journey to Portland, Oregon, then across the Midwest, visiting three cities before heading back to Los Angeles. I called it my "rectangle around America" and managed with just a carry-on and a backpack. That was all I needed, but when I posted a photo of my luggage, the most common question was: How?

The answer is practice. Ultimately, modern travel is less about dreamy wanderlust and more about practical realism: making the most of what you have.

Seats behind business class are becoming sleeker and more cramped, with limited storage space above and below those compact seats. That's where efficient packing becomes essential. The internet is packed with "best of" lists for items like compression cubes, tips from professionals like flight attendants, and numerous links to miniature toiletries that can fit an entire medicine cabinet into your luggage.

If you truly want to master packing in this age of resourcefulness, I suggest you make friends with a disabled traveler.

As a disabled woman, I’m always making the most of what I have. I remember telling my parents—who met in the travel industry when Southwest Airlines only operated in a few areas—about my childhood dream to visit Antarctica, right around the time I underwent surgery for my cerebral palsy. I would study maps and memorize flight prices from the Sunday paper, spending hours absorbed in stories of distant lands, whether from National Geographic or narrated with Anthony Bourdain's signature wit.

I longed for adventure, even as my body dictated its own limits: I struggle to carry more than a dozen pounds and find it challenging to walk more than a mile at a time. But I refused to let that hold me back. Disability instills a sense of determination; it fosters adaptability. Above all, especially when it comes to travel, disability inspires creativity.

I think of my wardrobe as a color palette: every top coordinates with every bottom, streamlining my outfits while complementing the predominant hues of my travel destination—blues for coastal areas, greens for mountains, and so forth. (Why worry about heavy souvenirs when I can capture perfectly coordinated photos?) Each essential serum, cleanser, or solution in my bathroom has a miniature version tucked away in a toiletry bag that I keep stocked, never disbanded.

I avoid last-minute packing and only include items "just in case" if it’s a swimsuit. Instead, I incorporate editing into my routine, which takes about an hour after pulling clothing from my closet. If an item can only be worn once, apart from undergarments, it’s out. If it’s too casual or too formal, it’s gone. I want to feel stylish and confident, while also keeping my luggage as light as possible. For my rectangle ’round America trip, I packed one pair of jeans, one pair of shorts, one dress, one skirt, four tops, and a jacket. I rolled my clothes like mini sleeping bags into one packing cube, while my undergarments and swimsuit went into another. I stashed sandals and a dressier pair of shoes in the top pocket of my suitcase, wearing my bulkiest sneakers and heaviest clothing during the flight.

Mastering the art of efficient packing takes time and can feel competitive even as it becomes second nature. I might dream of sporting a particular outfit for an occasion, but if the zipper won’t budge, I know it’s time to part ways. If I hesitate, I remind myself that traveling light brings me greater peace of mind and independence on the go.

When I need assistance from a stranger, my usual two bags are manageable for anyone to help with. Following these principles also lets me concentrate on other aspects, like how my body feels and whether I can squeeze in another attraction. Since gathering my things doesn’t take long, I often have the time.

Living with a disability and packing efficiently share a common thread: I’ve learned how to live without excess, and it hasn’t been catastrophic. In fact, I can still venture out on my own terms, free from the burden of unnecessary items that would only weigh me down.