I’ve spent the past few days surrounded by boxes, as we complete our move from Washington DC to Philadelphia.

Believe it or not, I like moving. There’s something cathartic about picking up and heading for greener pastures, of casting off what’s behind you and moving forward into the unknown. It’s a fresh start, with new people and new opportunities.  I’ve lived in 10 states (and two countries) in 40 years, and I learn a little more about our country – and myself – in each location. I now enjoy making these moves with my husband, our hands entwined as we figure out out our future, together.  

But this move bummed me out in one respect: We have too much stuff. As in,WAY too much stuff. As in, one 27-foot U-Haul truck wasn’t enough to contain the sheer amount of stuff that my husband and I have accumulated between us. We had to rent two trucks total to get it all up I-95, and it’s now packed in the 100-year-old rowhouse that I bought back in 2003, more as an investment than a desire to set down roots.  For someone who moved across the country several times with nothing more than a futon packed into a Corolla, it’s a wake-up call for us to reaffirm our desire to focus more on the experiences that life brings instead of the material possessions placed on a credit card.

Don’t get me wrong, I do like nice things. I have a collection of turquoise Fiestaware that’s somewhat a symptom of insanity. My husband has immense amounts of photography equipment that he uses in his home studio. And even though I weed out my books before every mood, they still take up more room than we should. We did make two trips to the Salvation Army before we left, culling out our wardrobes and other items that might be of use to other people. So we keep trying to beat the piles down.

Still, the level of stuff we have is unacceptable. It’s cramping our mobility, tying us down with material things that are mostly without sentimental value. When we married, adventuring was a vital part of our vows (really, I wrote it in) and yet our stuff somehow multiplied, inhibiting us from taking full advantage of life’s possibilities. You can’t fly when anchors are tied around your feet.

This spring will be about paring down the stuff. I predict once that happens, our journeys will become longer, our dreams will become bolder, our long-term plans will become clearer. Stuff happens – but we now have a renewed will, as travelers and as people who want to move on the Earth a little lighter, to fight back.

If you have tips on how to keep the stuff from building up, let me know. Clearly, we need all the help we can get!