A couple of days ago I gave notice to vacate my apartment. I’m going overseas to live for an undetermined period. Accordingly, I need to get rid of more than just the things I traditionally consider as clutter.

As I sort through stuff, I find that the most challenging aspect of the job is the emotional one. As I prioritize and evaluate, I feel I am not making judgments on the things so much as upon myself, my past, my potential.

Somewhere along the way I must have adopted the belief that “you are what you hoard”. This is most evident sifting through books: A book I never found time to read becomes a symbol of the purpose I bought it for. A book I have read becomes a symbol of what I hoped to do with whatever I learned from it.

And then there’s the more obvious detritus, the things which I have no use for, but somehow find it hard to shed. Some of these things I’ve been carting around for a decade and longer:

• Broken things: A backpack with a torn strap, a rusty umbrella
• Things that have sentimental associations, even melancholy associations
• Books which are autographed or inscribed as gifts, regardless of my esteem for either the book or the giver

Anyway—back to work.