Summer always seems to bring change. The end of May into the beginning to June begs for it. After years of watching people leave me and go on their adventures, I finally go to go on my own last year. This time around, I watch my friends go off on their own version of “Jane Moneypenny’s Quarterlife Crisis” move.

In 2 weeks, I return to St. Louis for a much needed visit and relaxation. After 8 months away and almost a year to the date I moved, it’s going to be a mixture of emotions. Hope for the friends packing to move away, sadness to not see those that left, and excitement to feel that familiarity I’ve been missing. I want to return victorious and awesome, as if moving away was the best choice of my life and leaving was great for my soul, my heart, my perspective. But I’m not confident that’s the case.

A year ago, I was leaving for this great unknown adventure with so much potential. Now I’ll return with a lot of mental and emotional exhaustion and unsure of where I belong. I hate my job, still haven’t found the right group of friends and got hurt by guys I should have learned to stay away from.

In some twisted way to control my return, I signed up for a hellish 3 weeks of fitness boot camp. It’s grueling and my shin splints have stopped me from pushing myself all the way. While everyone runs, I have to sit on the sidelines doing modified leg exercises. I feel like a failure, even though I know the fact I’m even doing this boot camp is already its own success. So I keep pushing each day, biting back the pain and thinking of how good it will feel to look tan and toned when I return. Or at least that’s what I imagine in my head as happening, even though 3 weeks is not going to magically give me the body of my dreams.

After all, there ARE old crushes and exes to be seen.