every time i've had to move (1999, 2003, 2004, 2008, 2012, 2015) it hits home how much *stuff* i have.
past echoes: like souvenirs of past selves, past hobbies.
futures which will probably go unlived: like every book i'll never read or reread, every movie i'll never watch or rewatch.
presents i never made any use of: like this. if i had, i might have gotten further along in mastering the art of letting go.
after the move it's free to sit safely out of sight (in plain sight, frequently) and mind.
so i can safely acquire more.
and yet...
the reason it's so hard to jettison any of it is because of the potentiality each *thing* contains to one day be exactly what some future i was looking for.
this is just venting about the insoluble.
