Moving Made Easy: 5 Things I Can Live Without

Americans are a materialistic bunch and I am no exception. And now that I’m faced with the task of moving all my stuff into a new apartment, I understand why too much stuff can be bad. My lease ends in two days; I’ve already found a new place, and I’m moving in with some good friends, but moving still sucks.

Somehow over the past year I’ve accumulated a substantial pile of sh*t, and it’s currently sitting in the center of my room. I need to dig through it, sort it out, and pack it in boxes so I can schlep it across town. Really, I need to downsize my life.

Here are the five things I’ve decided to get rid of to make this move easier.

#1: Clothes that seemed like a good idea at the time

Now, I’m not a fashion forward person, and my sense of style consists primarily of t-shirts and jeans. How cliché can I be, you ask. But it’s true. I don’t usually care how I look, and t-shirts and jeans are comfortable, so back off. Despite my one-dimensional wardrobe I’ve still got a lot of clothes to pack. It seemed like so much less when everything was shoved into dresser drawers. I don’t wear half of it anymore; most of my shirts are really f**king dumb, and there’s really no point in keeping them all. I also have a substantial number of outfits that were purchased as a joke for a theme party or a night at the bar. How many Hawaiian shirts does one man need? Probably one, for emergencies, but I have three. Deciding which one to keep might take some time.

#2: That piece of furniture I found outside someone else’s house

As much as I love my coffee table/TV stand/step stool, I can probably find something else that will get the job done. We’ve been through a lot together—the house party when someone fell through you, the days we spent watching movies and eating pizza, and the times you helped me reach the light bulbs that needed replacing—but the duct tape isn’t doing it’s job anymore and your legs don’t stay on so well. It’s time to say goodbye my friend.

#3: What appears to be some sort of bike

I decided, at some point, that I wouldn’t be walking to all my classes anymore and a bike was my solution. I didn’t want to waste my money driving to class; paying for gas and parking and parking tickets, and a bike seemed like the perfect solution. I found a decent used one that I thought would do the job, and to be honest I can’t remember the last time I used it. I’ve been walking to class this whole time. The bike sat outside my place through rain and shine and now resembles something an art student might make for a final. Most of the sparkly purple paint has chipped off and the chain has rusted itself to the sprockets; I’m pretty sure the wheels don’t even turn anymore.

#4: Those books that I’m gonna get around to reading eventually

Anderson Cooper’s autobiography seemed like such an interesting read when it was on the bargain table at the used book store for 50 cents, but having read the first two chapters I discovered that I don’t care about his life at all. That, and all the books I bought for classes and couldn’t sell back are in two large, heavy boxes. I need to accept the fact that nobody will ever need the fifth edition of The Media in Your Life: An Introduction in Mass Communication now that there are three more versions floating around. It’s time to throw this crap away and stop hoping the books stores will eventually want it back.

#5: Every notebook and folder from every class I’ve ever taken

Do I really need my notes from History 313: Women in the U.S.? Everybody knows that women are here to cook, clean and raise babies. I don’t need notes from a class I took two years ago to tell me that. But in all seriousness, why do I have all my old notes anyway? Maybe it’s because I paid so much money for those classes and credits and I don’t really have anything to show for it except some knowledge that’s only useful if I ever make it on to Jeopardy. Having something I can hold in my hands somehow validates all that time and money. But if I can get rid of a few more boxes and a couple trips up the stairs to my third-floor apartment I’ll find a way to get over it.