The worst part about moving is moving: The physical act of packing up the trappings of one’s life and hauling them out and in, usually within a time frame of a couple of days.

Psychologists say it’s one of life’s most stressful events.

We moved last month from a lovely rental unit in Kaimuki to a one-bedroom downtown apartment. The main reason: parking, itself a major stressor for anyone living in Honolulu. We had become prisoners to the lack of reliable street parking, venturing out only for work and groceries for fear of losing our precious space.

Our new residence provides assigned, covered parking, and every time we disappear into the cavernous garage I swear I hear the angels sing. We were fortunate to find a place that was vacant, allowing us a leisurely move-in window of almost two weeks. The effort was made much easier by the fact we had done the heavy lifting by shedding most of our worldly possessions in a 2015 move from Maui to Honolulu, which coincided with the downsizing of our household from four to two adults as our children took flight from the nest. Woo-hoo!

I had been primed by the experience of disposing of my mom’s things when she was no longer able to manage living alone. I had no interest in most of the things she had saved and realized my children would likely feel the same when it was my time.

The hassle and expense of interisland moving forced me to sort through the knickknacks and gewgaws acquired over the years from too many shopping trips to Ross and watching too many home design shows on TV, and to reassess the importance of having glassware for every cocktail occasion — beer, wine, sake, martinis, margaritas, champagne, brandy, mules, shots! — and extravagant serving platters for parties never thrown.

The veil was lifted, and except for a few pieces with sentimental value, I was able to see the clutter for what it was: just stuff — stuff that needed to be cleaned, stuff bought with untold dollars that could have been spent so much more wisely.

It’s all gone, gone, gone. Good riddance.

By the time we uprooted from Kaimuki, pretty much everything we owned could be packed up in boxes and transported in our car over a half-dozen trips. We sold the two heaviest pieces of thrift-store furniture and required the use of a truck — and younger male relatives with stronger backs — only once, to handle the bed.

Now we’re living small, except for the five crates of Christmas decorations that seem impervious to downsizing.

I highly recommend this kind of portable lifestyle. It’s liberating to be rid of so much chattel, to realize how little you really need, and in the process declutter your mind, clearing space to dream of future moves to far-off destinations. Or just across town where there’s better parking.

“She Speaks” is a weekly column by the women writers of the Honolulu Star-Advertiser. Reach Christie Wilson at cwilson@staradvertiser.com.