I just shared this thought with my dad about an hour ago:
I think it's very strange that, during my time in undergrad and grad school I accumulated all of this stuff - sheets, towels, furniture. Seven and a half years worth of life. And then, poof! I move across the country to Sleepy Hamlet, and I leave my previous life (and most of my stuff) behind, and I start to collect more stuff. Three years' worth.
Then I was kind of homeless for a year, wandering from city to city, and so I mailed some of the West Coast stuff back to my parents' house, where my East Coast stuff had been gathering dust. And it all sat in their basement.
So now I've got some of it with me in New York, and some of it is all over my parents' place, and some of it has disappeared into the ether. But sometimes I stumble over something, and it's like discovering an artifact from the Dark Ages. I remember places and faces and moments, and sometimes it's sad and sometimes it's nice. But it's always thrilling.
It's funny where stuff can take you sometimes.