I got into trouble on twitter once for referring to ours as a “distance” relationship. The 50 or so miles that separate us and the “see each other most weeks” nature of it clearly seem like unimaginable luxury to those struggling to make attachments work over much greater distances. But apart is apart, and I was describing real feelings, so I’m not going to apologise for doing so again.
I’ve learnt a bit about separation. For me it works one of two ways:
EITHER:
It’s horrible: an aching yearning that drowns out more rational thoughts and stops me working or achieving much of anything; it can trigger one of my occasional self-destructive downs, all full of gloomy despondency. At its worst (and, thankfully, only rarely these days) I can become paranoid about our relationship: “Why didn’t she answer my message? She must be bored with me! This is sure to end soon; better prepare myself.” Ridiculous really.
OR
It’s a sweet melancholy: the awareness of the her-shaped hole in my life perfectly balanced by the anticipation of its being filled again soon. I can relax into that familiar melancholy, enjoy it almost, going about my day with its presence no more than a background hum. I’ll smile fondly when I think of her or she messages me. If we haven’t communicated for a while, I’ll blow her a virtual kiss just so she knows I’m thinking of her.
I’ve learnt something else too, with a bit of help from the counsellor I see: which way my thoughts go when we’re apart is a choice that I have the power to make. Today, I have chosen the sweet melancholy and I smile often, both at the memory of our recent time together and at the anticipation of seeing her again.
I think I’ll blow her a kiss.
I understand this so much. I can either hate being apart of I can enjoy all of the relationship including the smile at each message, the fact they are in my thoughts, my memories and my desires about them. It means that no part of having them in my life is taken for granted. They are actively part.of my world.