• I was young, impulsive, and lonely, and a fling with my next-door neighbor seemed like a good idea.
• It was fun, and my neighbor was a nice guy, but we really weren't each other's type.
• It fizzled out fairly quickly, and living there felt super awkward, so I decided to move.

I was 900 miles from home, in a new state, at a new school, and moving into a new apartment when I ran into the guy who lived next door. Consumed with grief over a recent break-up and busy acclimating to all the new and rapid changes in my life, I hardly noticed him, assuming that the quiet, average-looking ginger wasn't my type.

But after a few months, we started to get to know each other and become friends, watching movies, studying at the coffee shop together, sharing pizzas, and sometimes, a few beers.

We started casually seeing each other

Turns out, we had a lot in common besides the shared walls of our little duplex. We had both moved from other states to attend the same university, were interested in politics, shared a landlord we could gripe about, and as recent desert transplants, neither of us was used to Arizona's sweltering summer heat.

So it wasn't long before the relationship morphed into a friends-with-benefits fling. Fresh out of a long-term relationship that left me lonely and brokenhearted, and busy with a part-time job and full class load, it seemed like the perfect solution — a casual relationship with no strings attached and the convenience of being right next door.

It felt very adult, making what seemed like a practical arrangement, avoiding any commitments or expectations that would distract me from work and school. I liked feeling independent, and after all the intensity of my previous relationship, something more casual felt like a welcome relief.

I hadn't thought about what it would be like if it didn't work out

Since it was my first real friends-with-benefits situation, it didn't occur to me to think it through and consider what it would be like when we stopped hanging out together or one of us brought someone else home. Being friends with benefits is, by definition, a non-committal and non-monogamous arrangement.

For a while, it was fun. My neighbor was a nice guy, and I had no complaints, except there also wasn't any real chemistry, and there's only so long convenience can carry a relationship.

My first instinct had been right. We just weren't each other's type, and were probably better off as friends without the benefits. There was no drama, but just as easily as the relationship started, it fizzled out. We stopped hanging out and soon started mutually ghosting one another, which created a lot of unnecessary awkwardness when we ran into each other in the laundry room, getting mail, or paying the rent.

It was awkward, and I decided to move

As a result, I decided to move a few months later when my lease was up for renewal. After all, our apartments shared thin, cheap, definitely-not-soundproof walls, and it was only a matter of time before one or both of us started seeing someone else. So I decided to spare us both the imminent discomfort and moved out without ever talking to him again.

In retrospect, the knee-jerk decision to move a few blocks away, while not uncommon in a college town, especially after a summer spent elsewhere, was probably unnecessary, but I didn't want to risk it. I also found a bigger, better, and more private apartment a few blocks away, so it was an easy decision.

Looking back, I have to laugh at my emotional immaturity and the way I unwittingly created an awkward situation that could've been avoided with a simple, honest conversation about it being time to move on.

If I had to do it all over again. I probably wouldn't get involved with my neighbor in the first place. As I've gotten older, I've learned from experience that it's not a good idea to unnecessarily complicate a good situation, especially when there are plenty of other options that don't live right next door.

But I also don't regret it. We had fun while it lasted, and I learned a valuable life lesson without any negative consequences. Plus, I trust that younger me did the best she could at the time, even if she may have acted impulsively and prioritized instant gratification.

• I've visited over 50 cities on the West Coast and love spending time in small, waterfront towns.
• Avila Beach, California, has fun summertime activities like a Friday night farmers market.
• La Conner, Washington, is home to the Museum of Northwest Art.

I learned to love road trips at an early age, riding shotgun next to my dad for hours-long drives on weekends and holidays. We even traveled cross-country together when I was 13.

So, it's no surprise to me that I became a frequent road-tripper, too. As a traveling house and pet sitter, I've driven more than 8,000 miles up and down the West Coast and visited over 50 cities, from the vineyards of Paso Robles, California, to the forests of San Juan Island, Washington.

Although I've spent most of my life living in big cities like San Francisco and Seattle, this journey has helped me realize how much I prefer small, rural towns by the water, like these five favorites.

Avila Beach, California, is a charming community along California's central coast.

Situated between San Francisco and Los Angeles, the charming little community of Avila Beach, California, is home to about 1,500 people.

Perched right on the edge of the Pacific Ocean, the town has a large promenade overlooking the half-mile beach, as well as cute shops, art galleries, and cafés.

Avila Beach also is home to lots of fun summertime activities, like a Friday night farmers market with live music and an open-air art gallery on the promenade on Saturdays.

While you're there, don't miss the lifeguard tower murals by local artist Colleen Gnos.

Sea Ranch, California, is full of natural beauty.

Sea Ranch, California, is known for its distinctive redwood-frame structures designed by American architects like Richard Whitaker, Donlyn Lyndon, Charles Moore, and William Turnbull Jr.

With a population of about 1,200 people, Sea Ranch originally began as a planned community in the 1960s, blending modern design with natural elements.

Today, the community is a great place for a day trip, with more than 50 miles of coastal and redwood forest trails. However, services are limited, so you'll need to head eight minutes north to Gualala, California, for gas, groceries, restaurants, and lodging.

Don't forget to check out The Sea Ranch Chapel, which features colorful stained glass, locally sourced stone, and a plaster ceiling sculpted like a flower.

Yachats, Oregon, is known for its art and proximity to nature.

Yachats is a city along Oregon's central coast. Home to about 1,000 people, this quirky little community is known for its artsy vibe and annual mushroom festival.

There are plenty of fun shops, restaurants, and galleries, as well as sandy beaches and tide pools to keep you busy.

I also recommend visiting the Siuslaw National Forest. The Cape Perpetua Overlook, which is above the protected Marine Garden shoreline, is the highest viewpoint of the Oregon Coast accessible by car.

Langley, Washington, is known as the 'Village by the Sea.'

Overlooking the Saratoga Passage and Cascade Mountain Range, Langley, Washington, sits perched on a bluff at the south end of Whidbey Island.

Home to about 1,150 people, the "Village by the Sea" is packed with art, music, theater, museums, restaurants, and unique year-round events like whale watching.

I recommend visiting the Langley Whale Center if you're interested in learning about the lives of orcas, gray whales, humpbacks, and other marine animals that call the Salish Sea home.

La Conner, Washington, is perfect for a weekend getaway.

This tiny, historic community located on the Salish Sea between Seattle and Vancouver, British Columbia, is off the beaten path, but well worth the drive through the beautiful Skagit Valley.

La Conner is home to the famed Museum of Northwest Art, and with a range of restaurant options, plenty of shopping, and stunning natural beauty, this Washington town of just under 1,000 people is perfect for a weekend getaway.

Don't miss the views from Rainbow Bridge, which connects La Conner to Fidalgo Island, or the Skagit Valley Tulip Festival, held annually in April.

• After much planning, I followed my boyfriend to Tucson and enrolled at the University of Arizona.
• He left shortly after, which meant I was alone and brokenhearted in a new, unfamiliar city.
• I stayed for years, got my degree, and learned to love the Southwest.

When I was 26, I moved to Arizona with the boyfriend I'd had since high school.

We spent a year planning the move since we'd be going 900 miles away from where we grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area.

I wasn't so worried, though. We'd supported each other through major life events and made decisions together for the better part of a decade.

Together, we'd backpacked throughout the Pacific Northwest, driven from California to Maine and back in a Volkswagen bus, and camped under the stars in 35 national parks.

Although I had no connection to Arizona, my boyfriend's family wanted him to move there to care for his ailing grandmother in Tucson — and I would've followed him anywhere.

Plus, after attending community college in California, the University of Arizona seemed as good a place as any to finish my final two years of school.

So, off we went to live on his grandmother's sprawling desert homestead.

My boyfriend left Arizona before my classes even began

When we arrived, I got my Arizona driver's license and established myself as a resident to access a sizable in-state tuition discount.

However, just days before my classes began, my boyfriend told me he was moving back to the Bay.

I wanted to punch him, but really, I was mad at myself. I'd ignored a carnival's worth of red flags over the years — lying, cheating, stealing.

Now, here I was, alone for the first time in a decade, stuck in a new city with no friends, a truckload of self-pity, and a broken heart.

After he left, I spent those first few weeks of school miserable and lonely, with my eyes perpetually red and swollen from crying. I felt like I was being tested. How much did I really want to stay in school? Enough to navigate this parched, alien wasteland alone?

Still, I stayed. I was determined to be the first person in my family to graduate from college, and I'd do it before I turned 30, with or without a boyfriend.

Although I struggled at first, I fell in love with my new city and state

Having been raised in a bay-side town, I felt like a fish out of water in the Arizona desert. Everywhere I looked were signs I was far from home — stabby cacti, piggish javelinas, and pack rats that would build a nest in your engine block if your car sat too long.

Eventually, though, it got harder and harder to stay sad in one of America's sunniest cities.

I dived into my studies, joined the university writing center, and began tutoring kids in reading at a local elementary school.

I moved into a studio apartment two blocks from campus and had a fling with the political-science major who lived next door. Within a few weeks, I was riding my bike everywhere and spending hours swimming and studying at the massive campus pool.

My appreciation and fondness for the state grew as I learned about the Southwest's rich Indigenous history and culture and took road trips to nearby historic towns like Bisbee and Tombstone.

I started making friends, venturing out, and exploring the natural beauty of the Sonoran Desert. I camped on Mount Lemmon, hiked the Santa Catalina Mountains, and drove deep into the desert at night to see the stars.

Two and a half years later, I'd graduated with a bachelor's degree and fostered a genuine love for the Southwest. Although I later left Tucson to take my dream job in Seattle, I'm grateful for my experience.

I never imagined I'd grow so fond of Arizona, but it's where I found myself, accomplished my goal, and made lifelong friends.

This move taught me I can turn any challenging situation into something wonderful — and that even a Bay Area Aquarius like me can fall in love with a desert.

• The hardest part of divorce was being without my kids, especially during the holidays.
• I felt overwhelmed with pressure to compensate by making them extra special.
• Relaxing on what I thought the holidays were supposed to look like has allowed us to start new traditions.

I sobbed as I sat surrounded by the remnants of Christmas morning — half-eaten cinnamon rolls, discarded wrapping, and little piles of presents my 3 and 6-year-old daughters stacked up before they left to spend the rest of Christmas break with their dad.

I was still getting used to sharing custody, and the hardest part was being without them, especially during the holidays.

This was my new normal

It felt so wrong, but it was our new normal, thanks to a divorce and custody order specifying that we would only spend every other birthday and major holiday together.

I was devastated, my mom guilt was in overdrive, and I felt overwhelmed with pressure to make the holidays better than ever, to compensate for my children's suffering, our lack of time together, and what I perceived as my failure to fix everything.

I set unreasonably high standards for myself in the hopes of making every Christmas better than the one before — more gifts, extravagant decorations, and fun, memorable experiences. It was exhausting, I never felt good enough, and I was spending money I couldn't afford as a single parent raising two kids in one of the nation's most expensive cities.

In my quest to make up for what we'd lost, I'd unwittingly turned half the year — from Halloween through their first-quarter birthdays — into my own unwinnable marathon of misery.

I was setting a poor example for them

It took me a while to understand that our enjoyment of these special days was inversely proportional to the size of my ever-growing to-do list, but once I did, there was no going back. Especially when I realized what a poor example I was setting for my daughters by reinforcing the patriarchal message that women, especially mothers, are responsible for everyone else's joy, even when it means abandoning our own.

Moving forward, I decided to change my approach and relax my death grip on what I thought the holidays were supposed to look like. Most importantly, this meant reducing the number of items on my to-do list so I could spend more time just being with my kids and savoring their easy, childlike joy.

This may sound simple, but it's just not. The expectation that moms create an abundance of magic is so ubiquitous that we're not often aware of how we surrender to it.

I changed how I did things

So instead of spending time I didn't have putting up lights I couldn't afford, we packed into the car and drove around listening to cheesy Christmas music while admiring our neighbor's decorations and drinking to-go cups of hot chocolate — not the kind you film yourself making from scratch at an Insta-worthy cocoa bar with 10 toppings, but the kind you buy for $3, mix with warm milk, and call it good.

Instead of competing with my ex-husband to buy the best gifts, I finally admitted to myself that I would never be able to match his budget and decided that it was in fact a win to let him buy the laptops, smart phones, and sneaks, while I focused on more affordable and traditional gifts like books, music, and pajamas.

As I began to prioritize my own needs, I realized that the religious holidays my ex-husband favored were less important to me than nature-based ones like spring equinox and winter solstice, which relieved even more competitive pressure. This was also an important reminder that holidays are just an arbitrary day on the calendar, and we could celebrate anytime.

Later, when my daughters were in high school, I gave them cash for birthdays and Christmas instead of spending hours searching for the perfect gifts. They loved being able to buy what they wanted, and I loved saving myself the time, effort, and worry that they wouldn't like my selections.

As a single mom of two daughters, the freedom to adapt and reimagine the holidays on our own terms was the gift we needed to truly enjoy them.