How's THAT for a pretentious title? 

I am surrounded by boxes. Linda and I moved earlier this month, and we're still unpacking. We're mostly finished, but parts of certain rooms in our new apartment still look cluttered. Books are piled instead of shelved. Tables have been set in the middle of rooms and stacked with mail, headphones, picture frames and other odds and ends. I didn't think we would be able to fill up an apartment so much larger than our previous one, but I also hadn't realized how concentrated the old place was. The apartment didn't look messy, but deciding to move was like pulling the pin on a clutter grenade.

The old apartment had large closets for storage. I had pushed junk into boxes, then packed those boxes into larger boxes and sealed them in the closets. There were things under the bed, behind the dresser and on top of the kitchen cabinets. We opened the closet doors and poured possessions into the living room. We sorted through everything, filling moving boxes and trash bags at an equal pace. I've always rolled my eyes at others' claims that we live in a wasteful society. But my goodness are we messy.

Much of the closet space in the old apartment was taken up by unpacked boxes from my move to Louisville. I found college notes and paraphernalia. Pens, Post-Its and playing cards branded with WEBSTER UNIVERSITY. I found folders of resumes and spindles of CDs with my portfolio on them. A box of clippings from places I had been published was on top of an envelope full of old birthday cards. These items were almost all trashed. I have digital copies, photos or other memories. At first, it was hard, but once I realized how much of the mess was memories I had forgotten about, I got into  garbageman mode. The cards relatives sent when I turned 22 were sweet. They don't do me any good, though, sitting in a closet. No one will know if I throw them away, and even if the senders find out, I doubt they would be hurt. So the cards and clippings and college gear comprise one category of clutter--the disposable made permanent. The sentiment isn't lost or wasted, but it won't become any more or less meaningful if the physical form it takes is boxed up or destroyed. Please continue to send cards on my birthday. I like them. I just may not keep them for the whole year.

The next category of junk is the most immediately useful, yet temporary--information. I found enough file folders full of paperwork to wear out the blades on a shredder. Fortunately, none of it needed to be shredded. There were instructions for building furniture I don't own anymore. There were instructions for building furniture I still own. There were instructions for every electronic device I've purchased in the last three years. These were all recycled. Any relevant information in them is online. I also found paperwork documenting things that had no business being documented, like the brochure and handbook that came with my glasses. As I dropped the books into the recycling, I had my first serious feeling of guilt. Someone at Ray-Ban headquarters (probably a team of people) worked hard to photograph, write, layout and print these pamphlets. I appreciate their work, even though it didn't do me any good. I felt bad getting rid of it. As someone who grew up around graphic designers, I didn't think it was fair to destroy it, but then again, most people toil over the temporary. I'm a news reporter, after all. A radio news reporter. Sure, my stories and related recordings are posted online, but for the most part, I'm doing important work that's useful for only a few hours or days. Even the most breaking, hard-hitting story vanishes. The gist of it remains. The effect is still there. But the wording and sound bites are forgotten. The radio waves may reach distant planets, but they will have long served their purpose on earth.*

Once the old apartment was empty, it was a revelation. I've never thought of myself as a minimalist. (I'm not a packrat either.) As I looked over those empty rooms, I realized how little I could have and still be happy.

That attitude lasted for an afternoon. I had hoped to throw more things away while unpacking, but I couldn't get back into my garbageman mode. It takes a strong will to throw things out. But we can't help but accumulate things. The clutter in my home, my brain and everywhere else I look is the byproduct of everyday life.

Everything that survived the move is now essential to me. I've tried to take the E.B. White route, and throw one item away with every trip to work...and I can't do it. I can't convince myself that I won't someday need an antique cigar box full of bookmarks. But I contradict myself. When I walk in the door or sit in the living room, I can't help but see the things I don't use: books I don't read; CDs I can only play in the car; two extra stereo speakers; and a hat I will never put on. The most cynical among us sometimes say we surround ourselves with possessions for comfort, even if we don't realize we're doing it. But I don't get any comfort from these things. I know I don't need them, but I can't avoid having them.

*Yes, news reports are a valuable record of our time, but for every article used by a researcher or taught in a classroom, think of how many aren't. I'm still an advocate for preserving reports for future generations, but I'm also a realist. Most of what we broadcast and print today will be useless to our offspring. I'm not saying our work is useless--maybe it will inspire people or lead to big changes in government or society, but that doesn't meant the story will be remembered.