The Most Useful Thing I Packed When I Moved Abroad Wasn't in My Suitcase

Picture it: me, 32, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to a pile of half-zipped suitcases that looked like they'd exploded all over the living room.

It was December 2013. Cats were crying. Husband was pacing. I was sweaty, stressed, and 97% certain I'd forgotten something critical, like say, my dignity.

At the time, I thought the most important thing to pack was the perfect winter coat,
Or maybe my American popcorn maker (because I was sure no European country could possibly understand how to make air-popped popcorn to my exacting movie-night expectations).
Or the six pairs of jeans I rarely wore because they were just this side of uncomfortable, but I couldn't imagine leaving them behind.

Spoiler alert: It wasn't any of those things.

It turns out, the single most useful thing I packed for my move abroad didn't fit in any suitcase.
Couldn't be bubble-wrapped into safe transport.
Wasn't listed on any Pinterest "Expat Packing Checklist."
And truthfully?
I didn't even realize I'd packed it until I was standing in a tiny Basel apartment, jet-lagged, homesick, and fighting the rising panic of "Oh God, what have we done?"

But I had it.

And it saved me.

It wasn't courage, exactly.

Don't get me wrong ... I had more than my fair share of fear.

I was terrified of literally everything... getting a visa denied, not making friends, what the hell do I do when my cat gets sick in a language I didn't speak.

But somewhere between the panic and the packing tape, I also packed something else:

The willingness to be a beginner.

The willingness to feel (and probably look) stupid.

To ask, "Sorry, can you repeat that?" for the fifteenth time.

To get laughed at when I butchered words in German, and to keep trying anyway.

To accept that yes, I was going to do things wrong ... often.

I didn't know then how critical that was.

But it's the one thing that let me live abroad, long after the shiny "new country" excitement faded.

Because the honeymoon phase always ends.

The first weeks abroad? They're magical.

Everything is charming, foreign, Instagrammable.

And then real life hits:

😕 You get yelled at by a bureaucrat at the tax office because some form you're supposed to have doesn't actually exist... but you're supposed to have it
😕 The vet needs your cat's vaccination records translated to German
😕 You pay $12 for a jar of peanut butter and question every life choice you've ever made.

That's when you realize: the most useful thing isn't what you packed in your suitcase.

It's what you packed inside yourself.

The part of you that says:

"ok, this sucks, but we'll figure it out."

That part? Worth way more than any baggage fee.

Let's be Honest: I also packed some completely useless shit.

Because, friend, I was 32, stressed, and delusional enough to think I needed:

🙄 Cookie sheets (that were too big for my European oven)
🙄 Shoes I'd worn at my wedding (that I thought I'd totally wear again...)
🙄 Enough drugstore toiletries to last through the next apocalypse
🙄 My college chemistry textbooks because you never know when you'll urgently need to know the difference between nucleophiles and electrophiles.

You know what I didn't pack?

The ability to laugh at myself.
That came later, but when it showed up? It was priceless.

Because here's the thing: moving abroad will humble you in ways you don't even know exist yet.

You'll get lost on buses.
You'll mispronounce street names.
You'll stare at ingredient labels like they're ancient hieroglyphics.

If you can't laugh about it? You'll cry.

A lot.

(okay, you'll still cry sometimes, and that's ok, too).

What I actually needed: humor, resilience, and the guts to keep going

The shiny Instagram version of moving abroad makes it look like linen dresses and wine on cobblestone terraces.

The real version?

Sitting at a government office, sweating through your shirt because the line is 3 hours long, it's the middle of summer with no a/c, and you're praying you didn't forget the exact piece of paper they'll demand.

And when they say, "No, wrong document, come back next week," you'll have two choices:

1. Get bitter and wish you never left home

2. Take a deep breath, say, "Okay, danke," and come back next week.

It sounds small. It isn't.

It's literally everything.

It's the willingness to suck at something ... over and over.

When you move abroad, you start at the bottom of everything:
👯 Social life? You have zero friends.
🙊 Language? You have zero words.
🌸 Culture cues? Yeah, zero clue.

I had a decade-long career, a beautiful apartment, a life I knew inside out.
And suddenly, I was the foreigner who couldn't read grocery store signs.

That's a hard fall for your ego.

But it's also wildly freeing.

You get to rebuild.
To choose the parts of yourself you want to keep, and what parts you want to leave behind.
To find out you're braver than you thought.

That only happens if you're willing to look stupid at first.

Real talk: the suitcase metaphor is cute, but it's not really about packing

It's about what you bring with you emotionally:

🧘 The capacity to adapt
🧘 The ability to fail and not make it mean you're a failure.
🧘 The humor to see that today's disaster is tomorrow's hilarious dinner story.

No packing cube can hold that.

But that's what makes the difference between staying or going home.

I wish I could say I figured this out before I left.

But I didn't.

I stumbled into it.
Like most foreigners, I learned it the hard way:

😬 After embarrassing moments.
😬 After visa mistakes.
😬 After days I wondered 'wtaf was I thinking?'

But I learned.

And if you're reading this, maybe you don't have to wait as long to learn it too.

Somedays, the only thing keeping me abroad was stubbornness and a little faith that it couldn't get worse

Not the money (it ran out about 2 weeks before our first paycheck arrived).

Not the visa (and especially not when it came time to renew it).

Not the romantic 'new country' glow (that went sideways the first Sunday I needed something from the grocery store).

It was stubborn, almost hysterical determination.

And that, ironically, is how it got easier.

So what should you really pack?

Forget the jeans.

Forget the air-fryer.

Forget the 'perfect' plan (because it certainly doesn't exist).

Pack:

📦 Patience for yourself, more than anything.
📦 Resilience for when the plan breaks.
📦 Curiosity to ask 'why do they do it this way?' instead of 'this is too hard.'
📦 The willingness to start at zero.

Oh, and maybe a portable charger.
Because your phone will save your ass more than once.

If you’re feeling terrified right now? Good.

It means you’re awake enough to know it won’t be easy.
And brave enough to want it anyway.

You don’t need to be fearless.
You just need to be willing.

Willing to look stupid.
Willing to learn.
Willing to laugh.
Willing to keep trying.

That can’t be packed.
But it can be chosen ... every single day.

Final messy words from the other side of the ocean

Almost 11 years, 3 countries, and countless embarrassing moments later, I can tell you this:

I still don’t speak German perfectly.
I still sometimes mess up paperwork.
I still get homesick.

But the thing I packed that really mattered?
That stubborn, scrappy, messy willingness to figure it out?

It’s still here.
And it’s the reason I stayed.

So, when you’re staring at your half-zipped suitcase, panicking over what to pack…
remember:

The most useful thing you’ll take isn’t in there.

It’s you.

Messy, terrified, still willing.

And that’s enough.