Most days I wake up and forget where I am.

That sounds more dramatic than it needs to be, so let me clarify—I’m not a somnambulist, habitual kidnappee, or amnesiac (although I did once develop transient global amnesia after surgery…long story).

What I am, however, is the son of a Navy Rear Admiral, which means that I have moved 19 times between homes, apartments, and townhouses across the world. Hence the morning confusion.

‘What room is this?’

It’s obviously a bedroom, Zach. You’re in a bed.

‘Yeah, but which bedroom? What color are the walls?’

You’re colorblind, so that’s not going to help much with self-geolocation.

‘Fine. Then is the light coming through the window foreshadowing another humid day in D.C., or is it the glow of a chilly English morning?’

Then I fully wake up and stop interrogating myself long enough to remember—’yes, right, West Chester. And that light is coming from a repair truck fixing the 637th pothole in the street.’

While my itinerant youth does have a number of confusing aftereffects—like not knowing what house I’m waking up in, or feeling the itch to move after living anywhere for 18 months—it is also responsible for cultivating my favorite interests and experiences: a love of traveling, getting lost in foreign countries, and learning new languages.

As a child, though, the most exciting part of frequent moves wasn’t savoring the abundant spontaneity of life—it was figuring out which bedroom in our new house would be mine. (Spoiler alert: the best bedroom I ever had came with its own laundry chute. Adult-me is still jealous.)

Now that I’m older and, if not wiser, at least more self-aware, I’ve found that there are many subtle ways that my upbringing has made an impression on me. I may not move every few years anymore, but I have learned to seek out experiences that I know I enjoy, like meeting strangers, taking random community college classes, becoming a regular in different coffeehouses, and changing up the layout of the rooms in my house every other month (which maybe accounts for my sunrise confusion). It seems to be in newness itself that I find familiarity.

So it is that my nomadic childhood conspired, for good or ill, to make me rather chameleonic. Adaptable, ever-changing, and enjoying it.

Just not particularly good early morning company.