At least once a week, I get the “moving” bug. I constantly get these emails saying how my life will be transformed into a living paradise if I move to Mexico, Costa Rica, or Equator; how each morning I will wake up and have no worries or cares; how I will be surrounded by loads of smiling, friendly locals and how I will have many new expat friends to socialize with. They describe the beautiful beaches, and extol the virtues of just relaxing in a café, or strolling the local markets, picking up fresh produce. But, I know that sooner or later, I will be bored out of my skull. When I lived in NJ, after my divorce, Saturdays were spent roaming around, maybe going to a movie, going to Costco or the bookstore, but I was very lonely because I did these things alone. My husband was an extrovert, and we had a group of friends we socialized with. But when we broke up, and my new boyfriend was gone too, I was alone. I am one of those people who actually enjoys my own company, sometimes more than being with people. This does not always work to my advantage because left to my own devices, and being the introvert that I am, I tend to isolate. Now that I am not “officially” working, I have virtually no social interaction except for the gym, or Starbucks, which doesn’t really count because these are not personal relationships. I am surrounded by many “acquaintances” that I would call friends, but nobody that I would socialize with regularly. Basically, everybody seems to be attached by the hip to someone else or they’re busy with their own lives. But, the bottom line is that wherever I go or wherever I live, I bring myself, and unless I undergo an extreme personality change—maybe a lobotomy—I will have the exact same issues as I had in NJ and now in Augusta. If I am looking for a geographical cure, it won’t happen because I will still be me, afterall. Yet, no matter how unrealistic, the lure of moving away to a quiet and serene life, where it would be cheaper, with a group of new friends like you see on TV, keeps me dreaming.