I’m not a collector. At least, not in the usual sense. I collect three things. One I limit because it was at the “right” size for me (and it’s got a total of 6 big things, which are all being actively used in my household; and 6 very small things, which are put away because I have small children and the small things are tchotchkes anyway). One is infinitesimally small and I can fit into it as much crap as I want. One fits tidily in a space that I have dedicated to it and also, it’s tax deductible.
Otherwise, I like space, freedom to move, less stuff, and decluttering. Decluttering is my life. I don’t think I’ll be truly satisfied until this house is empty and we’re sitting on mats and sleeping on low platforms. The older I get the more I’m attracted to that clean 1960s postmodern look.
Of course, this is a pipe dream. My kids have toys and outgrown clothes. Ick. I can’t wait until they outgrow all this crap and I can get rid of it to the first person who might give a hint of a whiff of a suggestion that they want it all. I have even discovered that my almost-5-year-old daughter’s behavior improves dramatically when her environment is uncluttered. She has a bed in her room. That’s about it.
My goal when I die is that I have very little of STUFF for my children to dispose of.