It’s 4am. Jet lag has once again insisted that I wake according to a time that is not in alignment with my current location. Sleep-wise, I am between worlds – hovering somewhere above the Atlantic, belonging neither in London’s wintery grey, nor California’s sunshiney morning.
Newly an ex-pat, am I now destined to live in that land between worlds? Not quite belonging in the country and culture I was born into, nor the one I have mysteriously found myself gravitating into?
