'Nuff Stuff.

I recently overheard two millionaires trying to impress each other.

"I have a winter house on the Riviera," bragged the first.

"I have a castle on a mountainside," countered the second.

"I charter a jet whenever I need to fly somewhere," the first artfully parried.

"I own my own Lear jet, and I fly it myself," the second crowed triumphantly. Clearly, he felt he was winning.

For at least an hour they tried to "one-up" each other as my husband and I and everyone else in line ahead of them listened--while we waited to get into a rummage sale!

I've often wondered what would possess two millionaires to stand in line for an hour just for a chance to buy someone else's secondhand junk. I came to the conclusion that even millionaires are not exempt from the primal urge to get more stuff.

Like squirrels gathering nuts we have become professional acquirers. There are entire temples (malls) erected to help us acquire the most in the least amount of time as efficiently as possible. Of course, modern technology has made it even easier. Now we can shop for bargains online on eBay in our pj's or buy a dining room table while channel surfing on the couch. Even those of us who prefer the more old-fashioned method of hunting down a good bargain and dragging it home have our favorite hunting grounds--yards, garages, rummage sales. The result is the same. More stuff. Which leads any self-respecting person who is slowly crowding themselves out of house and home to ask, How much stuff is enough?

The grassroots "simplicity" movement advocates that less is more and urges us to unclutter our lives. Which is a great idea, but uncluttering for me has always resulted in making room for newer and better and more stuff. Even the simplicity movement, as worthy as it is, has produced more stuff: calendars, books--even a magazine--which puts you in exactly the same position as before: with more stuff!

The key to living simply and cutting back on stuff, then, lies in another direction. It isn't until we begin to fathom how much our stuff owns us (rather than vice versa) that we can properly evaluate what's important and how much stuff we want to own at the end of the day. For example, in the time it takes to dust three shelves of knickknacks you could write a letter to a friend, brew a cup of herbal tea, or take a walk. In the amount of time it takes to shovel out the kids' room you could play a game with them, read some books, or bake cookies. You could trade the time you spend keeping up with, maintaining, and growing a collection (of any thing) for date night or family night or a mini-vacation. After all, if time is money, that stuff you have costs you a great deal in the end--no matter how much of a bargain it was in the beginning.

To determine what you want to keep and what you could live without, take a stroll around your house. Really look at your possessions. Do you love what you see? Do you just tolerate it? Have you outgrown your taste for it? You'd be surprised how often you can look at something and not really see it.

Keep only what you absolutely love, things that contribute to your sense of well-being or happiness. Donate the rest to charity and replace it, not with more stuff, but with more of what makes your life worthwhile. Because when life is all over, the person with the most toys does not win. They just have a bigger yard sale.

Celeste perrino Walker's stuff fills her house in Rutland, Vermont.