Reverse culture shock is a diagnosable and tangible consequence of spending six months living in a place as magical as Italy. They say that when you return from studying abroad, you'll find yourself spending weeks in a disenfranchised state of distaste and disgust with everything around you; American food, culture, and pastimes will pale in comparison to the glimmering memories you just made.

But they also say it's temporary. Eventually, you remember how much you like your luxuries. Soon, you rediscover your love for burgers and beer. You readapt to the American way because, ultimately, it's your home.

They say that reverse culture shock cures itself.

Let’s say you find an old pair of pants at the back of your closet. They used to be your favorite, though now when you try them on, their fit is off, and slightly too tight. They button and they zip, but you're never quite as comfortable in them as you used to be. What, then, do you do when you know there's a newer, better pair hanging in your closet tailored to fit you perfectly? Which pair do you wear the next day?

America is my ill-fitting pair of pants, and I've been putting them on every day for six months.

I adapted, but I never found the comfort of the reintegration I was promised. I relearned to stomach drip coffee, but I never stopped dreaming of the crema on my espresso. I entertained the idea of football season, and attended nearly every game, but would daydream about the time when I'd study in the piazza and amorously wander my way to class. I traversed the bar-muda triangle, but always wished for the nights that turned into mornings with strangers that turned into friends. I relearned to be an American, but it never quite felt like home again.

While others settled back into their U.S. niche, I spent six months wondering where mine was. Only after brutally honest introspection did I realize that it was never here to begin with: my niche lives across the Atlantic. But not everyone has been thrilled with the idea of me returning to find it.

Some were concerned my resume would suffer. Others warned I'd lose potential employment opportunities, or would end up unsuccessful. People couldn't understand why I couldn't be satisfied with a life here. I was even told that if I left, I would end up completely alone.

And truthfully, I have no good answers to comfort my concerned counterparts. I don't know how life would play out if I left and never came back. I can't be certain it would be the right choice and I can't know how it will affect my professional future.

So as graduation creeps up quicker than I realized, I'm faced with the unfamiliar freedom to make a choice that could be based exclusively on my happiness. But, I'm also met with the truths of adulthood: loans, bills, and drowning responsibilities. I have no idea how I'll balance my choices between those two elements, but I do know this: I have no intention of spending the rest of my life wearing an uncomfortable pair of pants. Would you?