Eight pages. Eight paces. Eight marbles. Eight minutes.
Three months. Three miles. Three jobs.
We think of numbers as big or small, but really, it’s the nouns they modify that give them meaning.
Three months. It’s just enough time to feel at home in a place; to start to feel like a native and not a tourist. Enough time for an introvert like me to warm up to people and get to know them. Enough to start to know the ways home, and the favorite park benches and the best views for walking. Enough to find a church, but not enough to feel like part of the congregation.
Enough to wish you had more time.
By this time next week, I’ll be back home in California, meeting a friend from England and my dad for a backpacking trip. And as much as I’ve missed the High Sierras and my family, a part of me will stay here in DC. What I’ll be saddest about is that I never had the chance to know it better.