I moved a little over thirty times in my life. Starting when I was a few months old until only last year when moving in with my hubby. Every time I moved, many things found their way into the trash. Once I took a little over a ton to the city dumping ground, watching my couch being crushed under the weight of the heavy waltz.
There are days I woefully recount those things I should have never, ever thought of as junk in the first place and I become acutely aware of the fact that we are never ever getting back together. A mini oven for kids way back when I was ten. It got left behind in Thalwil, Swizzerland.
A Coca-Cola collection got dumped at the age of seventeen when we were leaving our town to live in the big city. Mind you, we had no idea where we would end up, quite the hippie family, leaving our prosperous town in search of the unknown.
Then, at 20, I took my entire inheritance to the trash, as I was moving house again, this time alone, from a three bedroom place to a small one room in a flat share.
Roughly ten grand found their way into the junk yard that day, and boy could I make use of that money now. Oh, well. Guess one thing I hope no one will ever find amongst the rubble of my house are regrets. No possession is ever worth such a costly emotion, that’s for sure. No CD or poster or jacket even. Travel light is my motto. Hence I revamp my wardrobe once ever so often, selling it all off on ebay.
Yes, check my stuff and I hope you won’t find any regret amongst my possessions. Being free from that is worth more than any inheritance, that’s for sure.