Here's a piece of advice for travelers: don't cut your trip short.
I mean it, damnit. Don't do it. Commit to a set amount of time and stick it out, unless you are in mortal danger, debt, or (serious, serious) doldrums.
You'll regret it otherwise.
Oh, you'll convince yourself that you made the right decisions for you, but deep down you'll know it's a half-truth. Eventually, the worm of regret will bore its way into your memories, feasting on the negative and leaving a trail of sunshine and sparkles (I'm not sure what kind of metaphor I've constructed here). Shortly: you'll idealize your trip and there's just no escaping it. Leaving a path early always means you're running from something, and at the very least you'll think less of yourself for not rising to the challenge. At worst, the creeping realization that you have missed out on one of life's great gifts (opportunity) will find its way into your quietest moments. Rain won't hit the pavement with the same satisfying patter as on the road. Food - bland at best in light of your foreign cuisine. Conversations about your experiences will always end with a faint air of discontent.
I'm projecting so hard I can hear cars pulling up around me for the drive-in movie.
Let me start over: my name is Adam and I should have gone back to Georgia.
Despite everything you've read here, I know now that I would have benefited from more time. I don't regret my move to Chicago - the city has been amazing to me. I've met incredibly people and started to piece things together. Found a job, found another apartment, found hobbies, payed rent. And I miss Virginia - my family, my home. But still.
I don't yearn to hop on a plane and land in Tbilisi two days later. I would probably still have moved to Chicago had I spent another couple of months in Georgia (could I make this any clearer, Chicago friends? I wouldn't trade you for anything). But I could have had that extra time in Sakartvelo. And I should have.
I regret cutting it short because it was the wrong decision masquerading as the correct one. I was scared, lonely, and far away from home. And yet, even as I felt those things, I was adjusting. I was making Georgia my home. I gave it up because I was short-sighted and homesick.
Fortunately, I didn't lose much on the deal. It was a life-changing experience that didn't end in death, disease, or total bankruptcy. Maybe it would've - but next time I'll wait it out.