Can't think of anything. Voice of experience, not just talking. Once (circa 1984), deciding I needed to "reinvent" myself, I dumped nearly everything I owned in a Portland, Oregon, dumpster. Right down to my baby pictures, which incensed my sisters no end when they I told them about it a few years later.
Kept my manuscripts (stories I'd written) but could have lived without if needed. Hung onto a couple sets of clothes, but would have been arrested without those. And a guitar, but later traded that off for a week's residence on a couple's living room couch when I was essentially homeless for a time.
So...nope. Can't think of a thing.