I grew up in a military household, so it became routine every year or so for my father to enter my room with an apple box and say "Pack." What didn't fit in the box, well, it just didn't go. Forever I mourned the losses of things.

When I moved out and into my own place, naturally I rebelled against the tossing. I saved everything. Every book I'd ever read, garbage or no, letters, recipes, plants, pictures, fabrics... The problem was that I am terribly neat, so that all the crap actually LOOKED like less, so I could kid myself quite easily. And travelling was never a problem, I could go anywhere lightly, knowing my stuff was safe at home.

I've relaxed quite a bit about it now, and find it suits me just fine. Every spring I go through the house, top to bottom. If I haven't seen it/used it in the past year, it goes to charity. Clothing and household stuff mostly, I can't seem to get rid of the books and music just yet, but I have learned to listen to the little voice that says "keep it..you just never know...".

~Elle