Why do I have so much stuff?

I am in the process of moving house at the moment and therefore going through the both painful and enjoyable process of pulling out, assessing and either packing or throwing away every single thing I own. You don't realise how much stuff you have until it all has to go into boxes; and most of mine survived my attempt at a purge and made it into those boxes. Given that I have recently spent 5 weeks with only a suitcase and a handbag for company, why is it that I feel it impossible to live without all of these objects?

While packing, I caught up on listening to a recent programme on BBC Radio 4 brilliantly titled The Cabinet of Animosities, which explored the Museum of Broken Relationships in Zagreb, Croatia. This is a museum dedicated to objects which their owners have considered too important to jettison, and yet too painful or symbolic to keep themselves. The museum is somewhere which authenticates the objects' value but also somehow diffuses them, makes them safe. A lot about this reminded me of Orhan Pamuk's novel The Museum of Innocence, which I have reviewed in a post before, and which has now spawned a real museum in Istanbul that I am desperate to visit. Perhaps I can add Zagreb to the tour now too.

In listening and packing, I realised how many of the things I keep without question, have been given to me by important people, or have special memories attached to them. Yet, some objects which I have carried around unquestioningly for years, I looked at properly, realised I have never liked, and put in the bin without hesitation. When the value attached to these broke, they suddenly looked completely different. Some of my things are essential because of their function: my laptop, bottle opener, hair dryer, hole punch. Others are essential because of their meaning: my grandma's watercolours, a book made by my friends for my 21st birthday, a teddy brought by my dad when I was born. I might not take the second group in my suitcase to America, but I would feel incomplete if I didn't know they were safely stored somewhere, like the objects in the Museum of Broken Relationships.

One of the culprits in the accumulation of my belongings is, in fact, this blog. Since I last moved I have acquired a fair number of spoons, spoon-based objects, and spoon-related books. One day I shall write a novel and found a museum of my own. Watch this space/spoon ...