A friend once told me that when a girl gets stressed out, she inevitably takes it out on her hair. Whether it be a new color or a new cut, the style or the shape of her eyebrows, or who-knows-what with the nether regions, it’s always okay to make a big, bold change to hair. Because hair is safe. It always grows back, even if you don’t want it to. And when it grows back, it inevitably grows back the same as it was before you tampered with it. You can count on hair.

I’ve recently realized that when I get stressed out, I move. Most times to a new apartment, sometimes to a new city, and occasionally to a new country.

When I was still in high school, my parents told me they were moving to Las Vegas. So, I moved out, into my very first apartment, at the age of 17. It was over-priced, over-sized, and the completely wrong location for someone who was going to be a freshman in college in a few months. But it was still my first home as an independent adult.

To further the stupidity of this decision, I also moved there with a guy in order to be able to afford the outrageous rent. But when it quickly became blatantly obvious that things weren’t going to work out, I did something I’m still pretty proud of. I made him leave. And looking back now, that remains as the only time I’ve ever stood up for myself enough to do that. In every other situation, I’ve just deftly extricated myself.

The next time I moved was only a few short months later. This was the first time, but not the last time, that I’ve broken a lease. A friend helped me realize that I couldn’t have a proper experience as a freshman in college when I was living in an apartment complex about 20 minutes away from campus.

I made the decision that yes, I did want to live in the dorms. I made this decision in what I now realize is in completely typical, predictable fashion. Meaning I made this decision only about one week before my first semester of college started.

The lottery for getting placed into university-run dorms was over, but I was lucky enough to find an open room at a private dorm. Having just paid to break my lease at the first place (at the cost of one-and-a-half months’ rent), I warily signed this year-long contract, but reasoned that the school year was actually only lasted for nine months.

I coordinated all of my muscular male friends to move my belongings into the fully furnished dorm.