The things we saved

Minimalism fascinates me, with its conscientious focus on possessions and serene testimonials touting changed lives. It’s a choice that demands a thoughtfulness about everyday life that I find admirable, even if it’s not for me. I love things, unreservedly, and I have many more than I probably should. I’m trying to do better about this, because I have moved a lot and plan to move again in my life, and nothing makes you question the objects you have kept like the thought of putting them in a truck and moving them into a new place. At the very least, I want to feel like I’m being more thoughtful about my things, even if I keep more of them than a minimalist would.

My first move took place in 1991 when I left home to go to college. In those days before suites were common, the dorm room was an exercise in shoving as much as possible into a single room while somehow managing to say something about yourself with your decorative, organizational, and housekeeping styles or lack thereof. A balance must be struck between mementos of home and the effects of a whole new life. Since then, I’ve moved again and again. Twelve times, an average of almost once every two years. You’d think by now I’d have nothing extraneous left, that I would have purged myself of everything but a suitcase full of necessities. Instead, I somehow wind up with more all the time.

The objects that fascinate me most are the ones that we have carried through move after move, that we have brought from our earliest lives into our today. I think this is especially true for those of us who live far from the place where we grew up and our earliest memories. Mementos of home survive not because of any financial value (though they may be priceless on the open market) but because of our emotional attachments to them, the stories and people that blast back into our minds the minute we see them again. If you’ve moved more than a couple of times, you’ve probably culled a lot from your personal stores of packable items. I’m interested in what survived the culls. I’m interested in the objects themselves and the stories that infuse them with meaning—especially because that meaning can be so arbitrary and personal. I’m also tangentially interested in the statistics, if you can provide them: how many moves, how many miles the object has traveled with you, how many years it’s been occupying space in your life and heart.