I HATE PACKING!
I don’t know why I can’t just get over this and learn how to pack. But I can’t. I don’t want to think about what I’m going to wear the day after tomorrow. I have no idea. I hate bringing too many things, because it’s too heavy, and I also hate being somewhere else and seeing clothes in my suitcase that I would never wear there in a million years.
Or if you don’t bring enough, you just keep wearing the same thing, which I actually don’t mind. But sometimes it bothers the people I’m with.
My mom used to pack for me, but she stopped a few years ago. I don’t blame her. It’s so strange to me that I know exactly what I want when I’m writing something or making a podcast, but I have no idea what I want when it comes to clothes. I put off packing until the morning of the trip. My mom won’t even stay upstairs. “Sean, I love you, but I can’t witness this.” I just stand there and stare at my closet.
“Seany! Five minutes.”
I start throwing things into the suitcase. It doesn’t matter. If I need something I didn’t bring, I can get it there. Thorny likes shopping. When Jakey and Rachael (my cousins) visit her, they always go to the mall. I’m not really a mall person—though now that I think of it, it might be a good place for a podcast.
My dad drove me to the airport in his van, which is always fun and much less embarrassing now that the slogan is gone.
“You’re a brave man, Sean Rosen.”
“What do you mean?”
“Getting on a plane by yourself. Getting into a car that my mother is driving. Spending three days alone with her.”
“She isn’t as annoying to me as she is to you. And I’m not as annoying to her as you are. Do you think she’ll talk to me about Grandpa?”
“I can’t even guess.”
“Is it okay with you if I ask her about him?”
“Definitely. Just because I don’t want to think about him doesn’t mean you can’t.”
“Good.”
“Seany, I know it sounds like I hate my parents.”
“I understand, Dad.”
“You do?”
“Well . . . if I found out you were robbing things from the houses you work in . . . I might not hate you, but I’d be really mad at you. You know . . . for embarrassing us. And for taking stuff you don’t even need.”
“Just for the record, I never even thought about taking anyone’s stuff.”
“I know. It was just an example.”
“I’m supposed to remind you to text us when you land, and then when you get to Grandma’s.”
“No.”
“No?”
“When you’re on your honeymoon, you don’t get texts from your son.”
“I know. But your mom would feel better if . . .”
“Tell her I swear I’ll call you if I need you.”
“You sure?”
“Pretend I don’t exist for three days.”
“You crack me up. We’ll do our best.”
The flight was fun. Since I was flying by myself, the flight attendants kept checking on me and bringing me drinks and snacks. I took out my digital voice recorder and interviewed the people I was sitting next to. I’m not sure I’ll ever use them in a podcast, but they have an interesting job.
| ME: | How did you get started? |
| LADY: | For me, it was the family business. I started when I was three. I did it on stage for the first time when I was four. |
| MAN: | I never even thought about doing it until I met her. |
| LADY: | No. He isn’t what you’d call a natural. |
| ME: | (to him) How did you learn? |
| MAN: | She taught me. One of her brothers helped too. You just have to practice. For hours and hours and hours. |
| LADY: | He isn’t a natural, but he’s got stick-to-itiveness. |
| ME: | He’s got what? |
| LADY: | Stick-to-itiveness. He doesn’t give up. He sticks to it until he gets it. |
| ME: | Oh. |
| MAN: | I was motivated. She was traveling all the time with the act, and I wanted to be with her. Plus, I was ready for a career change. |
| ME: | What was your job then? |
| MAN: | Long-distance trucking. |
| ME: | Big change. |
| MAN: | No kidding. |
They’re jugglers. They perform at senior complexes like the one Thorny lives in, but unfortunately they’re not going to her complex this weekend. They wrote down where they’re performing in case we want to come. I got them to juggle those little bags of peanuts. In their act, they juggle fire, but they don’t let you do that on a plane.
I thought about telling them that I’m in show business too. There’s a lot going on in my career, and sometimes not telling anyone about it feels lonely. Maybe the jugglers I met on a plane and will probably never see again are the perfect people.
But you never know who’s going to post what you tell them. Some people never post (me), and some people post everything (Thorny, Brianna). I have no idea if these jugglers post or not. I don’t want my parents and friends to find out about my career before I tell them myself.
The plane trip went really fast. Near the end, I took out my Hollywood Reporter to read. Maybe I was hoping the jugglers would ask me why I have it, and maybe I would tell them, or just tell them a little. But they either didn’t see it, or they don’t know the magazine. Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen an article in The Hollywood Reporter about juggling.