For most of my adult life, I’ve moved homes every couple of years — dorms, student apartments, new places after getting married. Each move gave me a natural reset: a chance to throw things away, start fresh, and only bring what really mattered.
But my current place? I’ve lived here for eight years now. And in that time, stuff has piled up. Not just mine, but my family’s too. We’ve optimized for space — used vertical storage, rearranged furniture, and done small rounds of decluttering — but the accumulation never stops. Our kids are growing up, collecting their own things, and slowly, the floors are starting to disappear.
It’s not that we live in chaos — we have a cleaning lady who helps keep things tidy — but with nowhere to put things, “clean” only lasts about a day. Every closet, hallway cabinet, and drawer is packed with items we don’t use but can’t seem to let go of. Some hold sentimental value. Others are “just in case” items — things I’d hate to throw out only to need later. And then there are old photos, already digitized, but impossible to toss because they still feel like little time capsules.
Part of me knows what I need to do: go through everything, one weekend at a time. But between work, workouts, chores, and life, it’s easier to keep putting it off. And maybe, deep down, I’m not just putting off cleaning — I’m putting off letting go.
A friend once told me he throws away everything he doesn’t actively use. “If I ever need it again,” he said, “I’ll just buy it back. Space is worth more.” I’ve thought about that a lot lately. Because what I really want isn’t a new house — it’s space.
I want to open a cabinet and actually have room inside. I want to walk into our home and feel lightness, not clutter. Maybe this isn’t just a cleaning project — maybe it’s a reset. A reminder that, in the end, we don’t take any of it with us. So why carry so much of it now?




