Sorting your style

Three years ago, I was offered a job at a small, Midwestern, rural college. I had been living in my dead grandmother's house for the same amount of time, finishing up and recovering from grad school. When this job offer arrived, I was faced with the universal but daunting task of sorting through my things from all stages of my life (the parents dumped what was left of my childhood in the driveway), as well as the things from several other peoples' lives (I did not dump my dad's abandoned things in his driveway*).

Riddled with the burden of strong attachments, five garage sales and countless boxes sent to the thrift shop or dump brought me to Indiana with 15' of a cargo truck worth of stuff. There were things missing in there, such as a dining table and chairs, a microwave, a washer/dryer, a guitar, an office chair (now I have two), and winter clothes and blankets. Oh, and of course an SUV and a travel trailer. What was in there was an odd assortment of furniture (contemporary, antique, traditional), more knick-knacks than I care to admit owning, boxes of art supplies and forgotten projects, and tubs of family memorabilia that sees the light of day once a year.

In Indiana, of course, it turns out there isn't a lot to do in a small town, and I have often passed time with my retail therapists, the local antique shops.

Last week, another life-altering job offer arrived in the mail, and I find myself opening and peering into boxes and onto shelves I haven't seen in a while. I'm noticing a few funny observations.

1. I still like the knick knacks. Damn.
2. When I moved to Indiana, I had meticulously packed and labeled things. When I got here, I had to change rentals twice. The second time, I didn't bother wrapped things, but threw them into labeled boxes, thinking they would be unpacked soon (there is a desk in my spair room covered in the contents of a box. I couldn't decide where they should go, so I left them on the desk. They are snuggled under dust now. Ick). Now, I'm carefully wrapping for cross-country travel, but not really labeling, as I plan to /unpack/ every box when I get there and put it all away!
3. I can't decide what "style" I am. This is bothering me. When I came out here, I'd lived in a small bungalow, not updated, and thought I was moving to old, big house paradise. Now I'm here, I see how many have fallen into termoil, their owners unable to keep up on the maintenance or recoup the money for a restoration. Suddenly, midcentury ranches look awesome. Even so, my possessions sit, pout even, in the 'eclectic' genre, and fight the tight lines of modernism.

So, I've decided to get rid of everything and start from scratch.

Everything except the boxes and books. Why do those knock knacks have such a hold of me!! At least I hide them in boxes and don't put them all out. /That/ would be crazy.

*I dropped some off, but not all. I'm very nostalgic and he is not. If there was something interesting, I held onto it, lest it be tossed.