The month of August marks the great return back to Colgate, a new school year and soul-crushing humidity. Though the first two make me very happy, the last item has taken me to some very dark and moldy places.

Returning another year older and slightly wiser, I felt mentally prepared to transform my humble Cutten double into 200 square feet of good taste. To get the process started, I retrieved my boxes from storage–and was quick to learn that, like the new Drake album, nothing was the same. Seriously. Unbeknownst to me, three months of basement storage during the sticky, Hamilton summer can wreak havoc on one’s collection of winter-wear. So as I went to unpack my first box, it was to my shock, horror and dismay that the smell of mold attacked my nose and stung my eyes. It was deeply unpleasant to pick up an object I was sure was a mistakenly packed now-moldy loaf of bread, only to find out it was a sweatshirt formerly known to say “Colgate.” As I took my weapon of choice (old towel) to my newly forest green wicker storage boxes, I felt more than distaste for the grunge I was slowly but

surely dominating.

When I moved in last year, I was paranoid about being that person who brought too much stuff. In my paranoia, I forgot a number of essentials that I would proceed to regularly borrow from my too-sweet roommate. In an attempt to combat the same mistake, I gravely over-packed this year. 

It wasn’t just the mold fiasco of 2014 that I was up against; my summer shopping sprees quickly took a toll on the closet space I’d be dealing with. Though I stand strongly against the statement that I’m a “stuff” person, I definitely enjoy a thing or two. Moving into my dorm has made me realize that the “things” I enjoy clearly do not enjoy the space they are being forced to inhabit. So instead, I enjoyed learning that there are things more important then, well, things. 

Two days into my stay at Colgate, my floor is non-existent and a never-ending stream of tank tops and sweaters have yet to find a home. Through the clutter, I realized my sartorial stupor has left me pathetically reliant on what I have and less on what I am. I should really stop defining myself by my possessions, be they mold-covered or not.

Moving in can seem like a daunting experience but it really doesn’t have to be. I recently learned – to my disbelief – that your belongings don’t unpack themselves if you wait long enough – a more hands-on approach is required. So, in the upcoming year, my residential resolution is to break free from the shackles of “stuff” (particularly that which is covered in green fuzz). You are not limited by what you forgot to pack or what didn’t quite make the trip, but instead by your ability to think outside the musty, cardboard storage box.