The only difference between murder and surgery is the outcome.

...okay, that might be a hasty generalization. And a bit ridiculous. But its interesting to think about how two things seem so much the same, until the point where they just aren't anymore.

I'm not going to talk about dating or relationships or love now (although I realize how that was the perfect lead in for that type of conversation). I feel like obsessing about how relationships are is an unhealthy habit (although one of which I have admittedly been guilty).

I've been living at home for two weeks now. I left a different city, a different job, house, lifestyle, almost everything, for a not-so-fresh start. Or so I thought.

I left my home town five years ago under similar (and yet so, so different) circumstances to my most recent decision to move. I needed to get away from my old high school friends, ex-boyfriends that just wouldn't fade to black, some pretty awful jobs, and a weak start at university, but I also felt like I really needed to prove to myself that I could cope on my own.

I moved ten hours (by car) from everything I had known for the past 18 years, for what was truly a fresh start. The next five years were filled with stress, anxiety, and more roommates than I can count. I succumbed to a number health issues, ranging from stress-induced acne, to the development of what seemed like every possible allergy, to mental illness (also stress-induced).

It was heart-breaking for the first while that the change I had hoped would make me happier was making me miserable. But I was determined that I was going to prove to myself (and maybe others?) that I could cope and be happy without my old life.

Every time I tell someone how unhappy I had been, they seemed confused that I hadn't given up. Sometimes I am still confused that I carried on in this state of distress for so long. But every time I was about ready to throw in the towel, a beacon would appear, convincing me to stay. There was a great friend, a great guy, a great job, and a great prof that all stopped me from leaving at one point or other (though I am almost sure none of them know they factored into my decision-making).

Finally, about 8 months ago, a window opened. I was single for more than a month for the first time in years, I had become disillusioned by what was once a great job opportunity, I loved my friends but didn't feel like they were enough to support me, and felt that the small city (in comparison to where I had grown up) had given me all it could.

I jumped through that window so fast that I didn't even look down. Turns out it was probably a 4 story fall - survivable, but you're not going to come out of a fall like that without at least a few scars.

I quit my reasonably high paying corporate job with a major company, packed my bags, and drove that 10 hours back home to my parents door step. Okay, it wasn't that simple - from the day I officially put my plan in motion until it was fully executed, 2 and a half months passed;5 months of agonizing consideration about the decision led up to it. Needless to say, I moved home. It was heartbreaking to leave some of the great things behind, but I knew long term this was better for me.

So I went back to my old life. But its really not my old life at all, and you know what? That is great. It is better than I could have imagined. I am back with my family, all my favourite old spots are still here, my dogs still sleep in my bed every night, but you know what has changed? All those bad things I had been trying to escape were gone, and all that was left were the things I loved, and some great new additions (like our sweetest ever rescue dog).

All in all, my new life that is supposed to be the same as my old life looks completely different because of the outcome - this time it makes me happy. And that is just great.