Shondaland: I don’t feel guilty for checking a bag.

It was almost 10 p.m. In less than eight hours, my family and I would be on a plane to Florida, where we’d board a cruise ship that would whisk us off to the Caribbean for seven glorious nights. I didn’t start packing until the last minute, which was typical for me.

I’d mentally planned my outfits, piling my vacation clothes in a corner of my bedroom as I decided what to wear. I was about to take my third pass at getting my stuff in my bag, and I was sweating a little. I have a 22-inch hard-sided rollaboard suitcase. For years, my travel philosophy had always been “If it doesn’t fit in this bag, I don’t need it.” I’d arranged all my stuff for the cruise in this bag twice and couldn’t get it to zip. I blamed the great Frankfurt Airport incident of 2004.


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