After 6 weeks of living out of a suitcase, I was really looking forward to moving into the place that would be our home. I was focused primarily on receiving our sea shipment, which meant finally having all the things that helped define our daily life back in Scituate. The morning of the move, I sat in the echoing apartment daydreaming about all the things I would find in the shipment: our own pillows, more shoes, Crest toothpaste, favorite books, comfy chairs, some lovely blue glass vases, ponytail holders, the kids toys. As the movers arrived, bringing with them box after box, reality set in. We brought a lot of stuff. Even the movers thought we brought a lot of stuff.

The initial delight at finding familiarity quickly degenerated into feeling completely overwhelmed. I think Jed summed it up best, when, surrounded by piles of his own precious items, he said “this is just so, so stressful.” Reviewing all the “necessities” we brought made me realize that we were doing fine without any of our stuff from back at home. Each box seemed to disgorge more of those bits and pieces that seem to multiply as life happens. A few books here, some craft supplies there, those extra containers you might need to store that extra stuff you might have . . . .  We didn’t need these precious items for more than six weeks, and didn’t miss most of them. The things I really missed – scotch tape, a nonstick pan, a butter dish – were easily and quickly replaced.

Clearly I am not the only one with this problem. Clutter is such a hot button O Magazine dedicated the most recent issue to teaching us strategies about how to tame our clutter, get rid of emotionally loaded items, and manage our closets.  Is accumulation a new American cultural norm? Is the fact that there are enough Hoarders out there to support an entire TV season an indication that our culture has reached some sort of tipping point?  As I ponder these questions, I also have that niggling question in the back of my mind:  which came first, my electric labeler or all my stuff?

In many places outside of the United States, kitchen fixtures are moveable. You buy cabinets, appliances, etc. and you take them with you when you move. Craziness, I used to think. But maybe the crazy is all the distinctly unnecessary things I have shipped halfway around the world to define home. When I think of Jed sitting there, surrounded by things, but so clearly stressed and unhappy with the weight and memory of it all, I am resolved to set an example and shed some (all?) of the extra. If this were a magazine article, I would end with a description of how I triumphantly purged the extra pancake turners and scissors. I didn’t. I really like having extra scissors around. I did, however, put together a sizable bag of books to donate to the school library, and I have a big bag of clothes ready to drop off at a local charity bin.  Like water on a stone, I’ll wear down this hoard. It’s just going to take time. Oh, and the next time we move? Way less. Way, way, way less.