Also too many books. What bothers me about them is this:
I have always been a “book person.” For most of my life it has been a given that the problem is too many books, not enough space. The first man I fell in love with showed up on our overseas program with a suitcase full of books rather than clothes.
A few years ago, I moved into a house that afforded me the luxury of designating one room as “the library.” I populated it with all my books, six bookcases (including ones that had belonged to my mother and grandmother), an antique dictionary stand to hold my 2000 page Random House dictionary, and a desk. Heaven, right?
Not so much, as I struggle to come to terms with the fact that I am no longer a “book person.” Of course I allowed the internet to change how I absorb information, so there’s that. With few exceptions, I care about the content, not the medium, so the books I do consume are read on a Kindle app, or read to me on Audible.
Now, some books do have to stay. Some have sentimental value, of course. And there is no replacing my collection of Alice in Wonderland in multiple languages, rendered by various illustrators. But I don’t really need the stuff that is available at the library or free/cheap on Kindle, given that my tastes have changed and I have a lot of books I will likely never read again.
A few weeks ago it was a pleasant afternoon and I thought I’d settle down with a nice good hardcover book, one I could expect to enjoy on a second read, only to find that my eyesight has deteriorated such that reading a physical book the way I used to is no longer comfortable. 
I still read. But I am not a “book person” any more. As such, it makes little sense to maintain a library. So, too many books.
