The Sacred Moment After the Boxes Are Packed

I travel a lot for work. Not the glamorous kind of travel you see in airline commercials — more the “what city is this hotel in again?” kind. I’ve been in so many airports that I sometimes forget if I’m going home or leaving it. There are moments when the chaos of constant travel gets to me — tight schedules, loud venues, equipment that misbehaves like a toddler on a sugar high. And yes, anxiety sometimes comes along for the ride.

I’ve had anxiety attacks before — those “my brain hit the panic button while my body was just trying to coil a cable” kind of moments. Thankfully, those have become rare. But anxiety still hangs around the edges, like an unwanted backstage tech who keeps fiddling with the dimmer switch of my thoughts.

But then, there’s this moment.

Every conference has a rhythm. Setup day is madness. Show days are caffeinated sprints. Tear-down is a weird limbo. But when it’s finally over — when the last cable is coiled, the crates are sealed, the shipping labels slapped on with that satisfying thwack — there’s this moment of peace.

I step back, look at the empty booth, and I breathe.

The equipment is gone. The cases are on their way to the next city. There’s nothing more to fix, nothing left to test. And for the first time all week, I’m not worried about…