Sometime on Sunday

“Island Time” is a real thing. I have not known it but I have been operating in it all my life, but I did not know it as ‘island time’ unfortunately the only word I had for not being wound super fucking tight was lazy. Island people know how to enjoy. They know how to dance, they know how to listen. They know how to not be an ass hole when driving. They all wear flip flops and flannels. For years I have compared myself to others, always coming up short. I concluded something must be wrong with me. Depression, trauma, anxiety, not pretty enough, not smart enough. Turns out I could have saved myself a lot of grief just by understanding that I exist on island time. This blew my mind from the very moment I arrived in Hawaii.