Before Marie Kondo came up with the "Does it spark joy?" criteria for whether to keep or throw something out, I was pruning my belongings for things that gave too much weight to my footprint.
I have always moved often, which was another motivating factor in trying to be conscious about what I hold on to.
That said, I only allow myself to keep poetry and reference books.
I buy three or four books of poetry a month and constantly go through my shelves, reassessing the impact of the books there.
(I do the same with every other class of objects I own.)
Recently I've been focusing on Black women poets. I'm reading Marilyn Nelson, Lynne Thompson and a recent anthology of the work of Pat Parker.
I have a stack of poetry collections by my favorite reading chair and put narrow post-its on the pages with work that really gets to me, before I put them alphabetically on the shelf.
I know this sounds very nerdy. But it feels good.
When I was in grad school and lived with a lover, I came home once to find she had consolidated our libraries; alphabetized all our books together.
I knew she meant it as a gesture of commitment to our shared home, but I had mixed feelings
I'm like that Jill Clayburgh character who says, when her lover imagines their old age together, teeth in the same glass by the bed — "I want my own glass."