I'm writing this at a desk littered with objects: a small ceramic chicken a friend bought for me in Brazil, multiple expired gift cards and a framed photo of my partner and me in college, looking rudely young. There's an old Christmas-tree-shaped Christmas ornament and an Easter-bunny-shaped Easter egg basket, a vintage postcard of the Flatiron Building (on the back, someone in 1908 wrote: "Hello! Ada! No doubt you have about forgotten me by this time; but I assure you that I still remember you") and two boxes of picture hangers.
It's half junk and half treasure. But I've gotten so used to the mix that I haven't thrown anything out in years - and I've found that I prefer it that way.