There's a word in Japanese for collecting books and letting them pile up in the home without actually reading them; Tsundoku. I've managed to control this for the most part, but I still have a moderate collection that I'll need to get through. As time allows, I've been clawing away at the pile. Aside from my first editions and other prints with sentimental value, I've given away each book as I finish reading. That helped quite a bit.
I discovered I have a similar problem with power tools after completing a survey of the things I own.
I dread to think I might have the stereotypical inclination to collect these or I'm just as suceptible to marketing aimed at "Weekend Warriors". I've been more of a weekend worrier most of my adult life.
While it's a fairly typical collection for someone who might own a detatched home, it's still far too many for someone who lives in an apartment. A number of tools have been used only once. A few haven't been used at all. I've been justifying these as useful to build my cabin or start making furniture, but realistically, I'll probably only use half to a third of what I actually own.
When I was still renting, I had two rules for owning "things"; If I won't use it within a year, I won't buy it and if I haven't used it in a year, I won't keep it. Having my own place has spoiled me into forgetting these rules a bit. I think it's time to enforce these again.
Besides the waste in space, "what if I'll need it" is such a pernicious trap. It blurs the line between wants and needs, which should never happen. It's hard enough to decrypt our senses and strip desires from the onslaught of advertising.
I only notice how terribly saturated society is becoming with the detritus of manufactured needs when I leave it for the woods. The stillness of camping brings clarity and shakes loose what I actually need for the day. I have to find time to do it more often.