When I made the move before I moved to my parents’ home to move to Boston (still with me? Okay!), I held a garage sale with my dearest friend, Catherine, to get rid of (in her case) extra items not needed anymore or items in need of an upgrade and (in my case) everything else.

It was a strange feeling to watch people walk away with little bits of my life, though I tend to be unsentimental about possessions unless they’re heirlooms or gifts from loved ones — and none of that was on the chopping block. I’ve moved enough times to shake off any sort of hoarding impulse about the rest, and getting rid of things was ultimately refreshing… rather than panic-inducing. And I didn’t even HAVE that much stuff.

Catherine, however, had approximately one million paperback novels and 170 pieces of clothing with tags still on it and 29,000 picture frames to say goodbye to. And much more money at the end of the sale.

My friends have suggested that I can be like this because I haven’t yet had a “family home”, at least not one that didn’t involve my parents: prior to the last 11ish months, I’ve been on my own or with roommates that (while they were definitely family, in a sense) were never going to be my life companions. I’m not sure if that’s true, but it’s an interesting idea.

Now, however, I do know who my family is (is going to be — a certain bespectacled dad, and a video game-loving curly-top 12 year old), but the home we’ll share once we’re married is up in the air. We need to find a new place for July when our lease expires and our current 473 square-foot palace is up for renovations, so the dimensions and neighborhood are as yet undecided.

My big hopes for that home are two-fold: I want it to have laundry facilities (ask me how much I like laundry. Answer: A LOT! Ask me how much I like laundromats. Answer: NOT AT ALL ANYMORE!) that I can use without schlepping several blocks with quarters jingling in my pockets, and I want it to be located in a neighborhood where good stuff is within walking distance. This “good stuff” should include things like a grocery store and a decent coffee shop… and maybe even a bakery where I can send Gradon to pick up pastries on Saturday mornings.

Yes, I’d also love more space and lots of light and hardwood floors and a gas stove and a (clawfoot!) bathtub, but hey — I lived in a place where my bathroom was outside of my actual suite once (why yes, I did lock myself out of my apartment while wearing just a towel, thank you for asking), and I’m used to small and cheerful.

I AM small and cheerful, dammit.

But when we officially set up “our” first place together, will I suddenly become possession-happy? Will I start accumulating things that I will challenge people to pry out of my cold dead hands? Will I become the kind of girl who nitpicks her surroundings… right down to the length of the stems in the fresh flowers I’ll insist on in every room? Will I weep at the things people don’t choose from my wedding registries?

I don’t know. I think I’m more laid back than that, and regardless, I’m confident that a lot of design and furnishing decisions will be ones my future husband makes. He has fantastic taste (I do, too — or so I think — but he’s given it more thought) and some pretty fierce opinions about how his ideal surroundings should look, and I’m inclined to follow his lead.

On the other hand, he — like me — has done his share of moving and making do with the imperfect, so perhaps we’ll both be laid back. On the other other hand (I know that’s not actually an expression), he’s been dragging around a Rubbermaid bin of CDs and another of board games and (formerly) another one full of trading cards (thanks for taking them off our hands, Jeff. Sorry about that, Gretchen) so perhaps he’s going to become a full blown acquirer and hoarder.

Right now, though, deep down, I can honestly say I’m not fussed about having the perfect television mounted on the wall (the 12 year old, however… ) or six sets of dishes (like my mom — or is it more?) or carefully chosen throw pillows or a full set of hardcore gourmet knives (okay, I may be fussed about that.)

I’m just excited for OUR place, and OUR life.

But I’m curious:

What about your home makes it home for you? Are there particular items or comforts you need in place?

Are you an acquirer or an aesthete?

Do you tend to be picky about your surroundings? I don’t mean cleanliness (I’m picky that way) or temperature (I’m REALLY picky that way… I hate “hot” houses), but how things are set up, and colors and textures, etc.

Could you sell everything you had to follow a dream (it’s actually magical to say I know my answer to that question)?

I’d love to hear what you think.