Moving at the Speed of...

Once again, I'm moving into a new place.  I've determined that I've moved about 29 times in my 30 years.  That's almost an average of once per year for every year I've been alive.  Most of this moving has taken place since I was 16.  The longest I've stayed in one place since then is 1.5 years.  The word "stability" has little meaning to me, it's an elusive concept, and it frightens me.  Putting down roots is a lovely thought, however, it takes a level of commitment that I have yet to find within myself.  I am a short ranging vagabond overburdened with the accoutrement of society.  Things, lots and lots of things have followed with me, everywhere I've moved, and while I've gotten better at streamlining and minimizing I still feel the heavy weight of stuff.  Whether it's stuff that I'm sentimentally attached to or things I find necessary and practical, in truth, most of it is extraneous.  Most of it is a lie about a dream life that can never be attained, it is a picture of a fractured world too obsessed with materiality, wealth and accumulation of goods and resources as markers of status.  Why do I hang on so stubbornly to these objects?  Why do I allow them to burden my body and mind through move after move?  What do they really give me?  Are they my roots, are they my stability?