I am 40 years old. I have lost count of how many places I have called home in my two score years. What I can tell you is that I have only once lived in the same place for more than four years (that was during elementary school, first grade through the beginning of sixth grade). Mostly, two years is a chapter.
Somehow, I have managed to accumulate and retain a great deal of stuff. Every move presents a chance to reminisce, and to purge. There is something freeing about tossing items I've long held on to, but which offer me little more than added weight and bulk. But how do you know? Sometimes I remember sadly a package of items I once tossed only to regret the loss of memory that tossing has meant.
Life, like a river, flows.