Every June, like clockwork, I fall into a pit of sadness. I start to panic about having plans and making the most of my summer. My future happiness and success are now solely based on how many beach bonfires I’ve been invited to. (If you’re wondering, the answer is, and always has been, none. In fact, I’m not sure I even know beach bonfire people. (It's a rigged game.)

Opening up my Zillow app and perusing new listings while sipping coffee has become part of my morning ritual. I’ll look at a listing and try to picture myself there. How would I arrange the furniture? What decor would I need? Which nearby coffee shop would become my spot? If I moved to New York, what would the New York version of me be like?

I’ve never had an affinity for crazy plot twists. I always look a movie up on IMDB before watching, and these days I prefer to rewatch a familiar show over seeing something new. Maybe that’s why I love rom-coms so much. There’s a certain comfort in knowing the story will be tied up in a nice little bow by the end.