Packing to move is always an oddly introspective experience. You end up exploring every corner of your home, unearthing possessions you forgot you had or had assumed lost. In my case, I found piles of old art from my teen years and early 20's, stories I'd written as early as kindergarten and various keepsakes that I can't bring myself to throw out and yet aren't really display worthy. I've ended up taking giant piles of stuff to Good Will, other piles that belonged no where aside from the trash and on top of that have ended up throwing out giant piles of junk left by previous tenants in the attic. If I'm cleaning up, I want to do it right and I figure if I remove the useless detritus of previous occupants, I'm entitled to leave some of the more useful things like metal Ikea bookcases and useable, but unexciting dishes up there. As with every move, I find myself spending a lot of time asking if I need something, love it enough, to pack and haul it all that way. A lot of times the answer is no.