'Please remind me that there's shops in Bali', my daughter in law jokes for the tenth time. She's a little nervous, as it's her first time in SE Asia. But Bali's like the Majorca or Costa Del Sol of Australia - it's full of Aussies, and all the conveniences, with beautiful Balinese people who are kind and hospitable. She'll love it, I hope. The aim is to relax and make memories for a week, with my grandson as an added bonus. I wouldn't have bothered otherwise.

A week out, I'm wondering how we ever travelled without Booking.com and shared Google Docs. Every document we need is in there, just in case, though I won't print them off - technology means it's all on my phone, and if I lose my phone, the shared folder means it'll be on someones. Technology can be a minimalist traveller's dream.

Jamie had a little panic too, realising he had to pack for Bali. Pack? I laughed. Boy only need a few boardies and tshirts, and his toiletries which are basically a shaver and a toothbrush. I've packed all my supplements into small snaplock bags which fit into one zippered bag, rather than carry all the pills. I've done it a thousand times, this travelling thing.

Less is more, and yes, there's shops for when you get there.

It's better to travel light than weigh yourself down with stuff you don't need.

I've been thinking about the things we carry with us a lot this week. Jamie spends a lot of time revisiting his rave days in the '90's, reminscing on the the wonder of this time. The other day I rolled my eyes so hard that I nearly broke them, because dammit I've heard about marching in London against the Criminal Justice Bill which was essentially banning people gathering for dance parties characterised by music with 'repetitive beats' so many times that it's like I was there myself. I know it was an important time for him, but I find myself intolerant - they weren't my memories, yet somehow it's me that's also travelling through life with them.

And dammit if I didn't shed all my own.

For years I was consumed with nostalgia for my early '20's, a time of freedom, of road trips across Australia, love affairs, experiences. It was wild and beautiful. But nostalgia can hurt, and it can prevent you finding happiness in the present moment.

Jamie said that to me the other day. 'You manage to find happiness all the time' he said. I was excited about the new garden bed out the front, which looked fantastic. I checked my heart. Yep, it was happy. Jamie doesn't experience happiness like this, and certainly not as often. I wonder if that's the reason he goes back in time, to a time he thought he was happy, except he wasn't - he was messed up a lot of the time, but life was punctuated with extreme highs of raving. I explain this to him and he kinda nods - he's reluctant to let it go, but he understands that's a reasonable explanation for revisiting the past.

I tell him he needs to travel lighter and practice finding good in the now. He said he felt happiness the other day driving home knowing I'd be there and our grandson was arriving for the weekend. We talk about how happiness isn't there all the time, like an annoying clown. It's in those small beautiful moments.

Maybe he's not as good at recognising that he is a lot more happier and content than when I met him 20 odd years ago. I am too - just I'm better at finding joy in things than he is. Partly it's my personality - small things have always thrilled me, but partly it's that I've practiced leaving the past behind because I know it doesn't offer anything but repetitive beats.