What Fits in a 50L Bag
On liminal spaces and learning to travel lighter
The liminal
Here, in the liminal zone, people sit on the floor and become present by force.
Some try to escape the feeling, dissolving into their phones once again, that tool which began as connection and slowly turned into constant distraction. What started as useful became indispensable, and now feels almost impossible to live without. Sometimes I wonder whether technology reversed us, or whether we simply let it.
Airports have always felt revealing to me. Suspended spaces where identity loosens and time behaves differently. Thresholds.
2025 carried that same quality, an in-between state, no longer where I was, not yet arriving. Life, like an airport, isn’t meant to be static. Every time I believe things are settled, something unexpected appears, as if the universe were gently laughing, reminding me that stillness is not the point. Movement is.
Packing Control
Last October, I thought I was packing for Costa Rica. Two suitcases. Layers. Options. Versions of myself folded neatly inside. I told myself I needed them all, for safety, for comfort, for the woman I believed I had to be while traveling. What I didn’t understand then was that I wasn’t packing clothes. I was packing control.
Between October and December, I let go of one of my most deeply rooted masks, the one I had unconsciously tied to spirituality. I had been using spiritual language to avoid life, to bypass pain, to stay “high-vibe” while my body was quietly collapsing. Behind the beautiful outfits and aesthetic rituals lived a nervous system flooded with fear, so overwhelmed that even the idea of flying shut it down.
What I was really seeking was not travel, but to be held again. First by wellness promises, then by spiritual narratives that bypass trauma while calling it transcendence. New masks. Same abandonment.
The body’s wisdom
My body eventually refused. That was the lesson of the year. No more being used as proof of someone else’s goodness. No more saving others to feel worthy. No more confusing devotion with disappearance.
There was a final confrontation with my own shadow. It’s common for those who grew up with neglect or complex trauma to develop a savior complex. Wanting to protect others from the pain you once knew can feel noble, but it can also become another form of self-erasure disguised as care.
Humans need connection. We need the other. That isn’t weakness. But awareness matters. Knowing where that need comes from changes everything. This time, instead of carrying the weight of roles, beach-vibes Marisa, sexy Marisa, spiritual Marisa, light and effortless Marisa, I chose something simpler. I chose alignment without the branding of it. I’m leaving with a 50L backpack. Eight and a half kilos. Plus a laptop bag. That’s it. Not to prove I can live with less. Not because minimalism is trendy. Trends are just another way to package excess. I’m doing this because my body asked me to stop carrying what I don’t actually need.
When travel became performative
Travel used to be transformative because it displaced you. It forced listening. New smells, languages, foods, ways of moving through the world.
Somewhere along the way, travel became another form of consumption. Another checklist. Another performance. Cities turned into backdrops. Experiences into proof. Movement into urgency. Even nomadism shifted. What once meant simplicity slowly filled with comfort, productivity, and aesthetics. Lighter in spirit, heavier in luggage. I lived that version too. It looked expansive, but felt hollow. This time feels different.
What Actually Fits in My Bag
If I list the physical items, it’s almost boring. A few pants. A few tops. Two swimsuits. Socks. Two pairs of shoes. Solid soap for my body, my hair, and my clothes. Two towels. Enough. But the real weight was never material. It was emotional, relational, existential. The roles. The expectations. The identities built to survive rather than to live. Those don’t fit anymore and, it feels very vulnerable to live and relate from your essence but also very real.
What I carry now is not what I have, but who I am. My capacity to listen. My softness and discernment. My intuition, even when it doesn’t make logical sense yet. My ability to move between the rational and the emotional without abandoning either. My way of finding meaning in simple, ordinary moments.
Before survival took over, expression was already how I related to the world. I painted. I danced. I wrote. For a while, I even wanted to become a nun. Not because of religion itself, but because I sensed that a life of simplicity, service, and devotion to something greater was a life worth living.
I no longer believe in religion as an institution. I see how often it has functioned as control. But I still believe in connection. In source. In whatever name we give to the intelligence that moves through us all. What changed is this: I no longer abandon myself in the name of devotion.
And sometimes, devotion looks like being reminded that you don’t need beautiful clothes to be beautiful, that presence is enough, that joy can be simple, quiet, and grounded. Some people come into your life not to save you, but to gently mirror what you were already learning to trust.
Trust Before Certainty
This journey isn’t about bypassing fear or pretending everything is aligned and magical. It’s about honesty. About building trust from the inside out, slowly and without shortcuts. Trusting my body. Trusting my timing. Trusting that when I learn to listen to my sacral, my inner authority, the next step appears.
Real connection begins within. When that foundation exists, life responds with mirrors. Not to rescue you, but to meet you. Without performance. Without roles.
The Liminal as Destination
I’m on my way to Bangkok, but today isn’t about arriving. It’s about the in-between, the train, the airport, the waiting. Liminal spaces soften certainty. They loosen identity. This time, I’m not rushing through them. I’m letting them work on me too. This time, traveling isn’t a project or a promise. It’s a practice in attention. A willingness to move without demanding certainty from every step. I’m not traveling to confirm who I am. I’m traveling because I trust myself enough to stay present while things unfold. Even when my nervous system reacts from fear, I stay with it instead of rushing past it.
I don’t know exactly what comes next. But I know I no longer need to carry everything with me. I’m learning how to move without abandoning myself. And for now, that feels like the right direction.
Update: I’m editing this piece from a night bus, somewhere between cities, with my body tired and my mind quieter than usual. Nothing is resolved yet. And that feels honest. This isn’t a story told from the other side, but from inside the crossing.
With love always,
Maria Luisa.
If this reflection resonated, you are welcome to join my newsletter.
I share writings, insights and gentle reminders to support your own Spiral Way.
