tl;dr: 2013, suck it.

2013 started with a submitted fiance visa application and a lot more of Europe lined up to be explored all while enjoying the cheap Barcelona rent and ease of private lessons in cafes traveled to on bicing through the bikes lanes of the warm Mediterranean city.  

My Spanish improved through classes and intercambios,friendships strengthened through hardcore, inebriated movie nights and nights dancing and days on the beach, cooking skills improved as I walked home with groceries from across the street or around the corner every day to an apartment that we had to ourselves.  Paid Prague, Vienna, Slovenia, Croatia, and Italy a visit.  My parents and aunt paid us a visit in San Sebastian (which was the most beautiful Spanish city I've seen and the official last journey he and I made alone together), Barcelona, and Girona (this was the last time I'd spend time with my aunt Lorsie, One of the last things we spoke about was whether or not I'd be as "wide" as my mother when I was 60.  I'll try to carry out her athletic legacy.)  

   2013 took a turn for the worse when a month before our flights to the USA, our new, unexpected roommate walked into our apartment at the most awkward moment imaginable before I soon thereafter had to run out to meet a friend for coffee and then teach afternoon classes.  My friend didn't show for coffee and I sat in the Starbucks as it struck me that this last month in BCN would be spent with a roommate crammed into our apartment with us and that he wasn't going to take the flight to the US (as made evident by his feet-dragging on any future planning I tried to inquire about)

He moved in and out of the apartment citing his time in a hostel to be the most relaxed he had been in months, etc. 

He left my life early on June 29th as he with hangover blew kisses to me, on the balcony, from the sidewalk as he walked away. I flew "home" a few days later alone with no direction and spent a few months hateful and painful.

The most recent six months have all been an attempt to gain a "direction".  I moved to Boston within two months of being back in the US because of my itchy feet and need for a challenging distraction (and false promise of a job) 

I've made friends and started to get used to Boston/ the US.  I've tried to "accept myself".

Re-adjusting to the US has been crap and I long for old adventures and new adventures more than anything.

I think the lessons I've learned most are my issues that pushed the love of my life away, the only thing permanent in life is change, nothing gold can stay, and I should probably just live my life for me and fuck anyone's expectations.