The thing about "stuff" is too often we think that we're keeping it because someone else may want it. In reality, we're transferring the responsibility/burden of decision making to someone else. So, grandma and grandpa can't part with 70 years worth of collected "stuff" because, well, the kids or grand kids might use it! What they don't realize is that the people around them aren't just sitting there waiting for them to die so they can finally have a set of dishes or a full collection of pewter figurines. We're all collectively living our lives, purchasing and procuring items we need to get from day to day. When family passes on and leaves behind a houseful of things, very rarely does it turn into a shining beacon of hope for their immediate family. Most often its, "Ugh, when are we going to have time to go through all this stuff?" Which quickly devolves into trashing things and moving on.
Here's a thought: Be conscious of your things. Know what you have and what you need. And what do you actually "need" and what do you just want because it grabs your eye, or it's on sale, or it allows you to complete a task 30 seconds faster than how you do it now?
I struggle with this a lot, as does a majority of red blooded Americans. We're living in an age where anything we could possibly want is available with a few key strokes and credit card number, delivered right to our doorstep. But I can see my actions reflect on my young kids, and I know I have to set a better example. Already they want and need so much, and use so, so little. It's amazing what they can do to entertain themselves when we're at a park. A feather, a few leaves and rocks suddenly turn into a battle with dinosaurs or a village for elves. But back home, with their mountain of toys sitting unused, they'd rather complain about what they don't have than to use what they already own.
As parents, we take the responsibly for this, and I'm doing my darnedest to change that. I'm trying to show that it's the time spent with them I cherish most. That it's the experiences and memories that truly last a lifetime, not the latest and greatest gadget or gizmo.
Maybe, just maybe, when I finally kick the bucket and my kids have to go through my stuff, they'll find what's left truly had meaning: A well-worn game vest, or a dinged-up shotgun -- the collars of their childhood dogs and photos of those first early hunts. I'd rather they came home with a back set with a few items, then being forced to rent a garbage bin so they can unload the mountain of crap I collected, before getting back to living their own lives.