Like much of the world I have become fascinated with the tiny house movement. Minimalist living. Tiny House Hunters. Tiny House World. Ridding yourself of most of what you own in order to live in a 220 square foot house. Could I do that?

In a way I already do. Living in Manhattan feels as if I'm inadvertently apart of the minimalist movement already but after 3 days of sorting, selling, trashing and giving there were still lots more to go. Why is it so hard to sort through stuff I barely remember having? I mean, who really needs 7 pairs of scissors? I won’t even get into the number of pens and notepads I found.

Over the past month, I have sold most of the big stuff, given away knick knacks and thrown away all of the junk that managed to hang on through all of the other moves but now I sit in a half empty apartment struggling with how to fit the remainder of my life into a 40-liter backpack. I can't. Impossible. Not even going to try.

Anxiety sets in. By getting rid of all this stuff am I setting myself up for a life of destitution? We’ll have nothing when we get back. 9 months is a long time but it’s not forever. Buying all of this stuff again will be expensive. Ugh!

On the flip side, all this stuff has been distracting. Like cement rooting us, not necessarily to one place, but definitely to the states.

So, after several more minutes, I take a deep breath, raise my chin and concede. We've already made the decision to travel so most of this stuff will have to go. Period.

Besides, minimalism is supposed to make our lives less stressful. Free. Right?

But....I'm stubborn and have to admit, I'm not ready to get rid of everything. So, a 5x5 storage locker is now stuffed to the gills with treasured and "essential" possessions. (wink wink)

Sue me, I couldn’t go all in. The storage locker is like my security blanket but I've made some progress and it only includes one pair of scissors.

*6 pairs in the apartment. The 7th was in the car.

Teeny-tiny-ism.