A decade ago I worked for a place an hour away from my home. I'd intended to get an apartment closer, but within weeks of starting the job I realized I wouldn't be working there for long. So I didn't search for an apartment and saved money for the prospect of being unemployed.
When work is an hour away, everything feels rushed. I wasn't sleeping well because I hated my job, and an hour on the Garden State Parkway, twice a day, day in day out, is enough to make anyone's skin crawl. It was like working in a different time zone than where I lived.
These days, when I travel I like to keep my watch set to my home time zone. It's where my heart lives.
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