On the last Friday of spring break, I drove up from Anaheim to the San Fernando Valley to spend 24 hours with my best friends. Our trip was delineated to a strict schedule: an evening eating hot pot, an hour-long morning line for matcha, a “Mamma Mia!” themed 20th birthday party and a carpool straight back to Isla Vista. 

Not a minute of our day was left to the hands of fate, yet on Friday morning I arrived on my friend Claire’s doorstop armed with enough luggage to survive a winter backpacking uncharted wilderness

Packing light has never been my personal strength. Ask my friends from high school, who laughed at my Jansport backpack stuffed constantly beyond capacity, or my freshman-year roommate who helped me repeatedly unjam my overflowing desk drawers. 

I once believed this overpreparedness would resolve itself after beginning college; that a year spent in a Manzanita small double dorm would impose upon me a sense of practicality or an inclination towards minimalism. But the objects I’ve accumulated since freshman year have an elevated sentimentality. I collect ticket stubs, wristbands, seashells, souvenir t-shirts and tennis shoes like invaluable artifacts of my fleeting youth and find it increasingly difficult to separate essentials from junk.  

When objects become representative of the environments we’ve shed and the people we hope to become, our belongings can grow into extensions of ourselves. Materialism, a socially abundant belief system linking consumption to success and happiness, develops in childhood and peaks at middle adolescence in association with low self-esteem. We’re constantly purchasing material possessions in pursuit of happiness, but investing in experiential purchases is consistently linked to more enduring pleasure and satisfaction. Even when new material purchases provide a fading sense of joy, consumers find themselves stuck on a “hedonic treadmill” in which they quickly return to a baseline level of happiness.  

In spite of this downfall, the objects we accumulate throughout each season of life can carry extreme sentimental significance. This effect is most significant for objects that represent a link to memory or relationship. According to researcher Guy Fletcher, these representations are amplified by certain extrinsic factors such as inheritance or gifting. Other objects only acquire sentimental association after the passage of time, even or especially as their functionality degrades. 

Spring is a season of reflection, in which these material objects can feel even more sentimental than usual. But it’s also a season of renewal and, as we return to campus for a new quarter, decluttering is more important than ever. 

There’s a sharp negative correlation between environmental clutter and emotional wellbeing. It imposes a visual distraction that increases cognitive overload and reduces information processing, as well as increasing cortisol levels. 

Clearing unnecessary objects from one’s space is demonstrated to increase focus and productivity, and there’s no better time to do so than spring. As days lengthen and weather brightens, our levels of serotonin increase while melatonin levels decrease, resulting in elevated mood and motivation. This biological urge, paired with spring’s significance as a temporal landmark, contribute to a “fresh start effect” in which we separate ourselves from past imperfections and gravitate towards new goals. As a result, “spring cleaning” has emerged as a culturally-convergent annual tradition endured across centuries.

Finally, spring is a season marked by movement. As 1.5 million college students across America return to campus from spring break, overpackers like myself are forced to confront their fatal flaws and condense our lives into a carry-on suitcase. Overpacking can offer emotional comfort and a sense of self-defense against uncertainty, but deferring decision making and trying to squeeze a bursting bag into an airplane’s overhead compartment will ultimately only aggravate your travel anxiety.

In clearing your desk, dorm or suitcase from an excess of sentiment this spring, we can create space in our lives for new experiences and clarity — but don’t be embarrassed to hold on to a handful of objects that remind you of the people and places you call home.