Stuff and what it means to us

I got a peugeot retro racing bike when I was a junior in college in St. Augustine. I sadly let my 'free spirit'- the beautiful raspberry retro townie I previously had- wish away in the backyard. uggh, I still regret that, she was a bute. Yet when you are 22, graduating college, breaking up with your long time boyfriend and heading west you go ahead and charge forward with a light load. Somehow I managed to pack the Peugeot though and happy as a cat I made that decision. I am pondering the sale of it as I go through my things as I know the hipsters in the west coast cities would treat her with much due respect and ride her with a sense of self identity which gives her the meaning of being a retro road bike after all these years.
I know what it means to say goodbye and to let go. It is never easy, but gets more gracious over time. Leaving any life behind requires diligence in shedding layers of our own idea of self identity.
Other things I gave away that Spring after college:

The Juice it- the ultimate machine in orange juice squeezing and with FL oranges in plenty, I was in heaven. I didn't think the juice it would be as happy in Colorado.
My brothers ramshackle porch paintings: I handed these down to art lovers by leaving them right where they were stapled to our porches walls. they may still be there under those oaks creating joy in peoples lives.
That orange swivel chair with foot rest: ooh la la....picture it: classic golden orange velvety swivel chair with matching foot rest. That thing came right from the 50's and was a real gem.

The list may go on, but why even think about it? I still manage to be living out of a suitcase time and again (as I am now-glad I kept that one though- circa 1940s brown hard case), and also have a storage unit that sits lonely, untamed, and confused of its identity down the road from me. Why do we always want stuff, but then that same stuff puts us in a mood like no other (escpecially when it doesn't have a place and is staring at you like a lost puppy dog wondering if you will soon drop it off at the pound, or the thrift store)? Everytime Chris and I go to those endless doors amongst the asphalt roadways of the effusive storage unit we find ourselves pestering then followed by a shedding of more random bits and bobs. A lovely chore indeed, but I am getting down to the point where I refuse to shed another inch of skin. I have what I want, what I need, what represents my past or what will represent my future and I crave a place to put those things neatly and orderly in their little spots.

I am growing up and seek a suitcase always ready to be packed, but a place to come home to when it all comes around that doesn't consist of a big heavy metal door behind a locked gate that lifts into a world of my life, my clutter, my reality all stuffed in and stacked about like hostages from my past.
Then I can rid, I can recycle, upcycle, make it myself, re invent it, regurgatate, re give it or just plain remember it whenever and however I want to. At least I will know where to find it, cause it will have a spot. And so will I.

....but on the other hand, if I woke up and everything disappeared, all the stuff, the clothes, the muck that sticks me to it....I wouldn't bat an eyelid, and would happily embrace freedom into new territory with less history.