I think of distance differently, having grown up in a rural area. When I was growing up, there was no running down the street to play with a friend. You didn't just run into town when you were craving some Milk Duds, and making sure there was milk for breakfast required strategic planning because you could drive for twenty miles and not necessarily pass a grocery store. And all of this was fine, normal. Moving to college was the first time I'd ever lived in town, and I was the girl who frequently forgot to close the blinds before changing and was confused by the monthly test of the tornado siren.
If you've ever been anywhere near Minnesota, you'll know that distance is measured in minutes, not miles. The next town is fifteen minutes away, the nearest (insert store) is a half-hour drive, and every college student live (insert hours) away from home. We think of distance in the time we'll take out of our day and weigh the destination versus the worth of our time.
But distance is so much bigger and smaller than that.
Junior year of college, I started a relationship with a man who lived twelve hours away. College was the first time I'd ever really been separated from people I loved, but it always had a deadline. "I'll see you over fall break/Christmas/Easter." That's not the way long-distance romantic relationships work. I went 21 months without seeing my guy, and I got plenty of near-misses and disappointments.
My best friend leaves the continent in six days, just three days before my birthday. It's the second time she leaves North America in a year, but this time, no one knows when she'll be home. London is a long way from Minnesota, not that she was close to me when she was at home in Montana. I know we're both going to have days where we suck at staying in touch, when we don't have the energy to communicate, where it just seems so difficult to stay close so far. I've felt it all before, but every time, it's new.
Every mile is a pound of effort. My daily life would not be possible with out cell phones, texting, and Skype. I struggle with emotions that some people have been blessed never to experience, and some days they make it nearly impossible to crawl out of bed. But the moments - the hello moments, the I-missed-you moments, the finally-able-to-touch moments - they are sweeter than any emotion you've ever felt. Saying goodbye makes saying hello twice as sweet. Every mile is a confused blessing.
