Moving is like cousin sally's childhood phobia of "bugs." I just want to run (escape) from it. I avoid it... I despise it. But I'm making quite a bit of progress.
Most everything that my hands touch goes into a trash bag because I don't want to bother unpacking something that I'm not going to use for six months going forward after finding it in a box that had sat there because it only held shit I didn't give a fuck about anyway. So a lot of the tossing garbage is progress.