I wake up every morning at 6:30 AM and feel three hours behind, right away.
Part of it is because my friends on the East Coast are go-getters, and most of them are active on social media; so my habit of scrolling through my Twitter feed with one just eye open in the dark of morning really throws me off. There are newsletters and Instagram notifications and somehow not enough emails because I haven't written today's blog post yet which means I'm probably even more than three hours behind, and should I just wait until tomorrow again? In an ironic twist, social media is making me feel less connected than ever.
The other part of it is because we live really far away from "home," and I feel the distance every day. I look forward to hearing her voice every time, but it disorients me to talk to my mom at 9:00 AM--I'm just finishing my coffee or taking Ender for a morning walk, and she's telling me about lunch and the things she needs to do that afternoon.
It's only three hours but it feels a lot longer--a lot further than that.
Sleeping in a bit on a Saturday morning and waking up to feel like you missed everything. Saying "just one more" to an episode of Gilmore Girls on the couch after dinner but then realizing it's only 7:30. Unpacking (more) boxes at 8:53 PM Pacific Time when the majority of the people you know are already asleep in their beds on another coast 2,700 miles away.
At times it has felt like an adventure, and other times it has felt so lonely that it makes my head spin.
But we're only a week and a half in, and I know I need to be patient. The windows are open, and the night is bright and clear and it's 55 degrees every morning. There are beaches and vineyards to explore and new people to meet. There are book clubs to join and cousins to meet for impromptu dinners. And most importantly, there's a tall man asleep beside me every night who no longer has to catch a Thursday red eye to wake up with me on the weekends.
Life is so strange sometimes but I don't think I'd take it any other way.