A significant turning point in anyone's life: the possession of furniture that's neither a hand-me-down nor street furniture, and that you'll move with you because of its material value to you, and not because it's the only one you've got right now.

You can fuck your way through college on the bed in which your Aunt Jennie was conceived; eat off a table that was sitting on a corner on the 2nd of the month, after everyone moved; store your books and CDs in what would otherwise be industrial refuse. But at some point, you actually buy it yourself, and realise that it's not disposable, and that you are no longer a body and a duffle bag. Now you're a body and at least a small U-Haul of stuff with which you won't part.

As the youngest in a family of packrats, (we prefer collectors) I've gathered a rather prodigal amount of furniture that I'm rather attached to.

Now the problem of a 2200 mile move waits ahead of me. It can't all come. In fact, nothing over the size of a lamp can come, due to gross tonnage laws - I drive a small sports car that I wouldn't trust attaching a trailer too.

What does one do when faced with such a conundrum? Throw it all away? Donate to Salvation Army?

I think not.

I shall, in the time-held tradition of countless other 20 somethings, cart it all back to the parental homestead, lovingly pack it all away in the cellar, where my beloved pieces of furniture will await my eventual return.

Except for this chair, it's getting strapped to the hood.
Some things you can't leave behind

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