Everything I Thought I Needed That I Left Behind

For three weeks this summer, my entire life fit into four waterproof rolltop bags strapped to my bike. A tent, a sleeping bag, a mat, a few clothes, tools, food, a bar of soap. That was it. That was everything.

Now I’m home, staring at a kitchen cabinet containing 17 different types of tea. I’m not even a tea drinker.

I didn’t drink tea once on the bike trip, as a matter of fact. I drank instant coffee and water. That’s it. Well, and kvass, a lot of it. Three beverages, three weeks, zero existential crises about whether I needed chamomile or rooibos. I profoundly hate rooibos with all my soul, also.

On the road, if something didn’t get used within the first three days, it got tossed, else it was a waste of my energy to carry it, unmetaphorically.

I have a pouch of blue spirulina powder from the lockdown that has definitely achieved sentience by now. I have three yoga mats (why?). I have a cold-press juicer that nature is slowly reclaiming.

The bike trip forced me to answer a simple question every day: Do I actually need that?

Turns out, I needed a lot less than I thought. And I’m not talking about the tea.

The Stuff I Left Behind

Let’s start with the physical evidence of my accumulated delusions:

The supplement graveyard

Three half-empty bottles of magnesium (apparently I kept forgetting I already own magnesium and buying more). Vitamin C. Ashwagandha. Something called “Primal Greens” that tastes like lawn clippings. Iron that expired in 2023.

On the bike: Nothing. I ate actual food. My body survived just fine.

The curly hair product empire

Curl cream. Curl gel. Curl mousse. Leave-in conditioner. Deep conditioner. Clarifying shampoo. Moisturizing shampoo. Scalp serum. The list goes on. I have an entire shelf dedicated to making my hair look acceptably curly according to Instagram standards I’ll never meet.

On the bike: One bar of soap. One tiny bottle of conditioner. Hair tie. My hair looked like absolute chaos. Nobody cared. Including me.

Kitchen gadgets I’ve used exactly once

The above-mentioned juicer. A spiralizer for making zucchini noodles. The smallest grater known to man. A milk frother. Three different sizes of measuring cups.

On the bike: A camping stove. One pot. One spoon. Made every meal for three weeks.

Clothes I forgot I owned

So many yoga pants. Dresses I bought for events I never went to. Shoes that hurt but looked good, so I kept them anyway. An entire drawer of “maybe someday” clothes.

On the bike: Two shirts. One pair of shorts. Two bibs. Rain jacket. Wore them on rotation. Washed them in sinks. Didn’t think about outfits once.

The tea situation (revisited)

I need to come back to this because it’s truly unhinged. Seventeen types. English breakfast, Earl Grey, green tea (three varieties), chamomile, peppermint, rooibos (fuck you, rooibos), that weird mushroom one, the adaptogenic blend, turmeric ginger, sleepy time, “detox” (from what?), matcha powder, and four I can’t even identify anymore.

Books I’ll definitely read someday

A dusty stack of books on my floor. Novels, self-help, a whole throng of German-learning books. Bookmarked articles saved in three different apps. Podcasts downloaded and never played. All the content I’m going to consume when I finally have time (I have time).

On the bike: One paperback (and it was this one, highly recommend!)

The Systems I Left Behind

The intangible weight that’s somehow heavier than all the tea.

The 45-minute morning routine

At home, I have a system. Teeth brushing. Tongue scraping (I KNOW). Green powder and supplements (or not). Face routine with too many steps. Hair routine. Breathwork. Meditation app. Mobility exercises. By the time I’m done, I’m exhausted and it’s 10am.

On the bike: Woke up. Made coffee. Packed tent. Rode bike. That was the routine.

The optimization obsession

I track everything at home. Macros. Steps. Sleep scores. Heart rate variability. Screen time. Water intake. Productivity. Habits. There are four different apps on my phone dedicated to making me a better, more optimized version of myself.

On the bike: Tracked kilometers. Tracked nothing else. Felt more alive than I have in years.

The perfect day template

I have an ideal schedule written down somewhere. Wake at 6am. Jogging by 7am. Healthy breakfast. Deep work until lunch. Gym. More work. Evening routine. In bed by 10pm. I’ve seldom lived that day. But I sure as hell liked to beat myself up over not doing it!

On the bike: Wake up with the sun. Ride until tired. Eat when hungry. Sleep when dark. Repeat. Weirdly, this felt more structured than my carefully planned life.

Productivity apps I don’t use

Notion. Todoist. Google Calendar with twenty color-coded categories. A bullet journal I abandoned long ago that’s gathering dust on my bedside table. Three different habit trackers. A Pomodoro timer. All designed to help me Get Shit Done™.

On the bike: Two questions guided everything: Where am I sleeping tonight? Is belly full? Solved that? Success.

The Grip I Left Behind

Here’s where it gets uncomfortable. The physical stuff is easy to laugh about. The mental baggage is harder to name.

The need to have a plan

At home, I spiral without a plan. What am I doing with my career? Where will I live in the long term? What’s my five-year trajectory? The questions loom so big they paralyze me.

On the bike: The plan was “keep pedaling west.” Some days I didn’t know where I’d sleep until I got there. The uncertainty felt like freedom instead of failure.

Fear of the unknown

I’m unemployed right now. The unknown should terrify me. And it does, at home, where I can spend hours doom-scrolling job listings and doing nothing about them. The paralysis is real.

On the bike: Every single day was unknown. New town. New people. New problems. No choice but to figure it out. The fear existed, but it didn’t stop movement.

Control (or the illusion of it)

I’ve spent years trying to control everything. My body through yoga and fitness. My career through endless optimization. My life through systems and routines. Control makes me feel safe.

On the bike: Controlled exactly nothing. Weather decided my day. Bike problems decided my schedule. Random detours decided my route. I had zero control and somehow didn’t fall apart.

Certainty about what comes next

At home, I’m frozen because I don’t know what’s next. I can’t decide on a career path. I can’t commit to a city. I can’t figure out who I’m supposed to become. The lack of certainty feels like failure.

On the bike: Had no idea what came next. That was literally the entire point.

The identity I built that doesn’t fit anymore

For a decade, I was a yoga person. I did the trainings. I built the practice. I made it my whole personality. Then I quit yoga and had to figure out who I was without it. At home, that question feels impossible to answer.

On the bike: I was just someone riding a bike. No identity required. No explanation needed. Movement was enough.

What I Need

Sitting home alone with my teas, I keep thinking about my touring bike.

Everything essential fit. Everything else was weight I didn’t need to carry.

The spirulina can go. The yoga mats can go. Most of the tea can definitely go. But the real weight isn’t the stuff. It’s the belief that I need to have everything figured out before I’m allowed to move forward. It’s the idea that more systems equal more success. It’s the grip on control that makes me too scared to choose anything at all.

On the bike, I learned that you don’t need to know the full route to start pedaling. You don’t need the perfect gear to begin. You don’t need certainty to take the next turn.

You need a direction. You need to keep moving. You need to trust that you’ll figure out where to sleep when you get there.

Everything else is just weight.

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Currently accepting suggestions for what to do with my teas. Serious inquiries only.