I wanted to add a little more on this because I'm thinking of something that goes beyond material possessions. I'm thinking of our very identities, the fixed sense of self that we develop. The part of us that is depressed when no one comments on our blogs (and no, I don't think I'm saying this so people will post comments out of pity, ;^)). The part of us that is offended when our kind acts are overlooked or misunderstood. The part of us that subtly resents the good fortune of others at times. The part of us that expects our kids to be grateful, etc. etc.

Who is that self? The one who craves to be seen in certain ways, received in certain ways, etc.? The one we try to create, to display to others (a sort of Eleanor Rigbyish face in a jar by the door). The one who cleans house before company comes but doesn't clean it for himself.

For me, this is the much more dangerous accumulation of life. And it feels just as empty as accumulating the most toys. But I'm not sure what not accumulating such a self really would look like. Perhaps the non-neurotic among us can suggest something?