Gerontologists call it the “material convoy”: the stuff we collect that defines our lives. Professional organizers, move managers, and the like might, when no one is within earshot, in a moment of professional weakness, call it “junk.” Everyone has it, but older folks tend to have more of it, if for no other reason than having been on this earth for a longer time. The myriad attachments and related aspects of the self can be carefully delineated, if need be, and include status, sentiment, security, fear, self-image, and hopes for the future. In short, identity. Whether it be furniture, size 4 jeans, shoes, cars, newspapers from the 1980s, or, in my case, a Saf-T-Pop sucker, sitting in my kitchen cupboard for the past five years. I can’t remember how I got it. What I can remember is that when I was a child (in Ye Olden Tymes) my father would bring me one when he returned from work in the afternoon. So, when I acquired this particular Saf-T-Pop I did not consume it immediately. I set it aside. Five years ago. Today, in a fit of whimsy, I ate it. It was a little stale, but I’ve eaten worse. As move managers, we do well to ease our clients away from the tangible relics of memory, reaffirming that what is most dear is stored within. No small stuff.