When I turned 19 and graduated from college, I left behind a boyfriend and friends, packed a bag, and set off down the unknown roads of life. I wanted new experiences, new friends, new challenges. I was staring at a blank page, ready to fill it with stories and memories. With no one to hold my hand across the streets of my destiny, I did it all on my own — and I’m proud of that. I built a life for myself.

Eight years later, I felt the urge for change again. An escape. When everything looked perfect on the surface, I still needed to leave — to go to a remote island, hoping that somehow everything would be okay.

Yes, it’s hard. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve met kind people and kept myself busy. I work a lot, make good money, spend breaks at the beach. But the long hours we all put in mean there’s little time to plan anything together. Days off never match. What I crave are activities that challenge me, body and mind — adventures, real conversations, something more than the four walls of work or the bottom of a wine glass.

Going out alone as “the new girl” can be overwhelming. It feels like the first day of school, with cliques already formed. I realize how long I lived in my mountain cocoon, safe and comfortable, shielded from contrast or conflict. At home, I could choose who to let in — and I was never alone. I miss that. I miss friends who became family, the hugs, the talks, the years of relationships that turned into gold. Without them, I feel vulnerable. Exposed.

This whole experience is scary, and I haven’t fully adapted yet. Some days I think about going home — to the people who love me, who understand me, who see me for who I am.

But here’s what I know: you can’t run forever. Not from your fears, not from your problems, not from home. Yes, I ran. And no, I don’t regret it. Because being here forces me to stay focused, to stay positive. I needed this. Not just to “have the experience,” but to truly face it, hold it, and make the most of it.

I have an itch I can’t quite scratch. I need to understand it, learn from it. I don’t know how long it will last — but I do know it won’t last forever. Because nothing ever does.