What Living Out of a Suitcase for 18 Months Has Taught Me

Lisa Marie Staab
Jul 26
4 min read

A love letter to the art of letting go, staying open, and living lightly.

For the past 18 months, my life has been contained within a suitcase.

Well, technically two — one slightly overweight, the other always on the verge of popping — but still, everything I’ve needed to live, work, and wander through multiple countries has travelled with me in compact form. Or occasionally, stowed away at my brother's house outside Vienna - Thank you!! It’s been freeing, confronting, expansive, occasionally maddening… and one of the greatest teachers I’ve ever had.

Here’s what this nomadic chapter has taught me:

1. Flexibility isn’t just a skill — it’s survival.

I’ve slept in more beds than I can count (and not in the way people usually hope when they hear that line 😉). I’ve lived in the countryside, by the sea, in tiny apartments and rustic cottages and everything in between… and worked from cafés, train stations, garden tables, and the occasional patch of shade under a tree when the wifi (or electricity) bailed on me.

Food options, schedules, plug types, pillow quality (why are good pillows so hard to find?!) — they all change. You adapt. You pivot. You learn the difference between "this is uncomfortable" and "this is unworkable." You make backup plans, then backup plans for the backup plans.

Living this way has shown me, very clearly, that flexibility isn't a bonus trait. It's a lifeline. It’s also non-attachment in action — one of the core Mindfulness Principles I try to live by. I don’t just teach this stuff… I’m out here practicing it daily... and granted, it's not always easy!

2. You don’t need much to be happy.

True joy doesn’t come from five-star rooms or overflowing closets. It’s in the small, golden moments:

The call of a bird of prey overhead. Sunflowers in bloom. The scent of crushed lavender between your palms.The sight of a deer bounding through the wheat fields.

The shared laughter with a Spanish shop assistant when you’re miming “vitamin C” and she’s trying to figure out if you want a supplement or a face cream with returned hand gestures. A hug from someone you love — or someone you’ve only just met, but who feels familiar. The coolness of the sea kissing your ankles after a long day. Or the cheeky sip of local Albariño as the sun slips behind a distant hill and your shoulders finally, finally relax.

See what I’m doing here? Mindfulness in motion. Gratitude in practice. Presence in real time.

3. People speak with far more than words.

One of the most humbling and beautiful parts of this journey, living out of a suitcase, has been realising just how much we communicate without language.

Yes, of course, hand gestures and facial expressions help — but there’s something deeper. A kind of energetic dialogue that happens when you're truly present. We read each other with our whole bodies. You feel when someone is quite 'right' or aligned… or when they radiate warmth and welcome. You can walk into a space and feel your whole system go nope (or yeah...nah for my fellow Aussies) — or instantly exhale.

Not being able to understand the language heightens this awareness — it sharpens your senses and invites you to listen beyond the words.

4. Discomfort is the best kind of mirror.

Here’s the thing — I’ve often been seen as confident. Outgoing. Brave. And sure, there’s truth in that. But there have been plenty of moments where I’ve been deeply uncomfortable. Let me say that again... DEEPLY UNCOMFORTABLE! 🤪

Like navigating late-night arrivals when the address is vague and the keys don’t work... oh, and the glass table has imploded before your arrival, and you're changing rooms at 2 am after traveling 14 hours. UGH! Or trying to explain that you want a magnesium blend — without words — in a pharmacy that doesn’t speak English. Or being in places where I know no one, and the only conversation I have in days ...is with myself.

But instead of running from that discomfort, I’ve started getting curious about it. I’ve sat with the unease and breathed through the uncertainty. And over time, I’ve found a different kind of confidence. One that lives inside me now — not just as a performance, but as a quiet, steady and deep knowing.

5. Balance is something you choose every single day.

I’ve become so much more aware of how I spend my energy — and how I restore it. This lifestyle demands presence, and presence requires care. So I’ve made it a point to honour both.

A midday walk through the trees. That slow morning coffee (never at dawn, let’s not be ridiculous). A short stretch on the travel yoga mat in whatever space I’ve claimed for now. Sometimes even just sitting still, watching the light shift on the wall — letting the moment be enough.

This, too, is mindfulness. Not just in theory, but in practice.

6. Roots matter too. And they’ll grow in their own time.

There’s a part of me that longs for a place to land. To have somewhere I can leave my books and copper pots…Unpack the feathers I’ve collected from long hikes through foreign hills…And plant things — not just metaphorically, but actually to grow, harvest, and cook from a garden I’ve tended with my own two hands.

But I trust that it will come.

This season is about movement. Following the breadcrumbs. Staying open to possibility. And when the time’s right, I’ll know — and I’ll stop, and I’ll create that space that’s been quietly calling me home.