Living Between Time Zones

When people ask where I live, I usually say Bangkok. But in truth, I live somewhere between time zones.

Originally from Ohio, I have been based in Thailand since 2011, working across Africa, Eastern Europe, and Asia. My calendar looks like a world map, with meetings in Addis, calls in Tbilisi, workshops in Islamabad, and reports due in Manila. Yet my heart still runs on Midwest time.

Mornings are when I catch live sports from the United States, a small ritual that keeps me connected to home. Evenings are for family calls, the hours when Ohio is waking up and I am winding down. Somewhere in between, I fit in the workday that belongs to this part of the world.

During my assignments abroad, I keep my home life close through video calls. I join my Thai wife and stepdaughter for breakfast from a hotel in Pakistan or a guesthouse in Ethiopia. They sip tea while I drink my first coffee of the day, sharing stories and laughter through the screen. It reminds me that family connection does not depend on geography, only on intention.

Sleep is no longer something that follows a schedule. It follows my body. I sleep when it tells me to.

After years of trying to adjust, I stopped fighting the clock. Time stopped being something to conquer and became something to live within. There is a quiet peace in that. The world feels both smaller and bigger when you stop expecting it to move at your pace.

If this rhythm of life had a symbol, it might look like interwoven bands of color looping endlessly across a soft background. Each curve would represent a region, a rhythm, or a pulse of connection. None would dominate, yet all would rely on the others to complete the pattern. That is what living across time zones feels like, a constant crossing of worlds that somehow forms one balanced design.

Now, as I move from consulting toward authorship, the loops of my life are beginning to loosen. What once circled the globe in meetings and miles now turns inward, toward meaning. The colors unwind, yet stay connected, forming gentler curves of memory and insight. In the quiet space between calls and continents, I find room to write, to breathe, to listen again. The pattern still holds, but it hums differently now, less about schedules and more about story.

In a way, I am still living between time zones. Only now, they are not measured by clocks or countries, but by moments of reflection that connect who I was with who I am becoming.

Author’s Note

For most of my life, time was measured by projects, flights, and client calls. These days, it is measured by stories. Writing has become its own kind of travel, one that crosses memory rather than borders.

If you have ever felt stretched between places or lives, I hope this reflection reminds you that meaning often appears in the quiet spaces in between. That is where I seem to live now, between time zones, finding a new rhythm in words.

If you enjoyed this piece, you can follow more of my reflections and stories in my Substack series Human Architecture, The Jim-ism Anthology, and Marked by Wisdom. Each explores a different side of presence, purpose, and the human experience, drawn from a life lived across cultures, continents, and seasons of change