Oh gosh, where do I begin? My first experience was when I was 17 and hauled every little thing I had in my teenage room, including porno magazines and toys I’d had as a child (all in the same plastic bag). Luckily the place was big enough for everything.
Second time round, I went to uni and was a little smarter. I’d already left some childhood memorabilia at my parents’ place, and chose only my computer (an Amiga at the time) and one guitar, plus clothes. Still, carrying everything by plane was a nightmare. Moving back to my parents’ place after uni was easy though, did it a little bit at a time.
Then I joined the army and had no personal posessions, apart from one set of civilian clothes (and a bag of basic stuff at my sister’s place).
Then I bought a car and put everything inside. Lived in a tiny flat where cardboard boxes of my things also served as furniture. Managed to fit everything in the car again.
After that I burnt half my things, but ended up inheriting my own home, which served as my permanent base until recently. It was the only experience of really “moving in” and it was wonderful. I had a Norah Jones CD playing the whole time on loop, while I crafted my own bed, desk, wardrobe etc. Every piece of wood in that place was DIY (made from scratch, not IKEA-style DIY), and most of it was crap, but I loved it.
Then I had to move again, first to Berlin, then to a small town in Poland. I travelled light, but it still felt I had far too many things. And I’m moving yet again as we speak, with everything stuffed inside a second-hand station-wagon. Will be moving back into my old place in Greece next week.
Sorry, I talk too much. And still not sure if I even answered your quesion. It’s just that moving around has become a way of life for me. One that I did not choose, but ended up having anyway, to the extent that I cannot imagine any other life anymore. I’ve given up on thinking that my next home will be my last ages ago.