I travel a lot. If you look at my suitcase, everything is

Hear the meticulous words of Joel Robuchon, master of kitchens and craftsman of perfection, who confessed: “I travel a lot. If you look at my suitcase, everything is extremely well-packed and well-folded; people who travel with me are impressed at how organized I am. Some would refer to me as a maniac for this.” At first, these words seem to concern only the trivial matter of luggage, yet behind them lies the greater teaching of discipline, order, and devotion. For the suitcase is but a mirror of the soul; how one prepares for the road reveals how one prepares for life itself.

Mark this truth, O seeker: order is a form of strength. The folding of garments, the arrangement of tools, the preparation of the journey—these are not mere acts of tidiness, but expressions of mastery over chaos. Robuchon, who was famed for his artistry in food, applied the same precision to his travels as to his plates. To some, this appears excessive, even “maniacal.” Yet what others mock as obsession is often the very habit that sustains greatness. For the one who tends carefully to the smallest detail becomes unshakable when greater storms arise.

Consider the example of Alexander the Great, whose armies marched farther than any before them. His soldiers carried not only weapons but meticulously prepared kits, their camps laid with exacting order, their routines governed by discipline. It was this precision, this refusal to let disorder take root, that allowed them to move swiftly and endure long campaigns. Alexander knew that the organization of the small enabled the conquest of the vast. So too Robuchon, in his careful packing, reflects the same principle: order in the small things builds strength for the great.

Yet, O listeners, there is another side to this tale. For Robuchon calls himself, half in jest, a maniac for his precision. Here lies the eternal tension: discipline can be admired, but when taken to extremes, it may appear as madness. The wise must walk the narrow path between order and rigidity. To prepare well is strength; to obsess beyond reason may bind the spirit. The lesson is not to laugh at Robuchon’s discipline, nor to worship it blindly, but to see in it a mirror of our own lives: where does our pursuit of perfection serve us, and where does it enslave us?

But do not miss the deeper current of his words: his suitcase is not about clothing alone—it is about respect for the journey. He honors his travels by preparing with care, as one honors a guest by tidying the home. His companions, seeing this, are impressed, for they sense the truth: that such preparation is an act of reverence. To travel without thought is to stumble into the unknown unready. To travel with care is to meet the unknown with dignity. Thus, his folded garments become a symbol of readiness, of respect, of discipline that honors the path ahead.

The lesson for us is clear: live your life as Robuchon packs his suitcase. Do not neglect the small things, for they are the foundation of the great. Prepare yourself, whether for journeys, for tasks, or for struggles, with order and care. Let your tools be sharpened, your heart disciplined, your mind uncluttered. Do not scoff at preparation, for it is the armor that carries you through storms. But also beware of being enslaved by it; leave room for freedom, for wonder, for the unexpected joy of the road.

Therefore, O children of the road, fold your lives well, as garments in a suitcase. Arrange your days with wisdom, so that chaos does not rule you. Honor every journey by preparing for it with care. And when others laugh and call you a maniac, remember that great souls are always called strange by those who do not understand them. For discipline, order, and reverence for the path are not madness—they are the silent pillars upon which greatness is built.