ON DISTANCE

We all remember them. The defining moments that change the course of a relationship. One moment it’s smooth sailing and the next you’re weathering the storm. Oftentimes the shift happens under uncomfortable circumstances: your first big fight, the loss of a loved one, a deeply buried secret, health scares, etc. A lot rides on the way we handle our growing pains early on.

For us, the defining tide was distance.

Geography slipped between us once I moved off campus to the other coast. Soon after Jordan began a Master’s program that relocated him up north. Suddenly, a few hours drive from each other grew into seven.

Most would agree that distance generally sucks at any stage. It’s especially challenging early on in a relationship when all you want to do is spend every waking moment with a person. You’re still studying each other’s quirks and routines, and so desperately want to be woven into them, as opposed to imagining them on the other end of a text.

To be perfectly candid, it was grueling in the beginning.

Every sad love song seemed ten times sadder. Holidays and celebrations would come and go. We’d plan our visits around them far in advance, but sometimes we’d have to postpone. And every once in a while we’d have to cancel them all together. Gone were the days of spontaneity. I mourned the memories we didn’t get to have.

The missed Skype connections or cancelled plans began wearing me thin. A perfectly reasonable missed phone call was hard not to take personal. The combination of modest bank accounts, Jordan’s finicky Jeep and my demanding (and temporary) nursing program stint were a recipe for the perfect storm.

I just really missed my best friend.

Whenever things got murky, our focus was redirected on the bigger picture. One day we’d live in the same zip code under the same roof. We even purchased a set of fancy Crate & Barrel tea towels that became symbolic of our future. A glimmer of the home we’d create back on shore.

The choppy waters strengthened our trust in one another and made us value our independence. Space gave us room to flourish so we could as a pair (I’ll dedicate a whole post on that in the future).

For those first few years, we grew together while being apart in the best way we knew how: words of affirmation. We spoke and wrote them freely, the state of our hearts were always in check.

We weren’t afforded the luxury to beat around the bush. We couldn’t rely on body language or be comforted by each other’s presence after a short round of the silent treatment. In a way we were lucky to omit those tactics all together. Distance handed us a crash course on emotional maturity and clear communication.

Although we didn’t pass the first couple go arounds, we were earnest about making it work. I’m really proud of the twenty year old versions of us.

One of the first things we unpacked at our new home were the fancy tea towels. Till this day they hang in our kitchen like badges of honor.

What I found especially valuable during those challenging times was learning the art of writing a damn good love letter.

Back in December 2016, I wrote an anniversary post on our way to celebrate in San Francisco. Romance is amplified in a city of lights. If you’ve been following along for a while, this story may be familiar to you. If not, here is more of my heart.

A LOVE LETTER TO THE POST OFFICE

Jordan used to joke that the mailperson was reading our love letters.

If they did, they’d learn that for the first part of our relationship, we were two broke college kids who saved our pennies all month so we could “meet each other halfway.” Or that our go-to date looked like making dinner and watching the same movie over the phone. They’d see the bucket list that gave us something to look forward to in our stretches of absence.

When you go weeks-sometimes months without seeing each other, it makes every day you do get together your favorite day.

Even after being roommates for three times the length of our time apart, we never lost that. I can’t help but be reminded of how lucky we are to do all the wonderfully mundane things together; like grocery shopping as a team; or ending the night in a car going the same direction.

I’d also like to think it indirectly made everyday these past nine years feel like the honeymoon phase.

If I can go back and tell that postal worker anything, I’d thank them- over and over again.