In
Defense
of Long Distance
After countless busses, bodas, trains, airplanes, and taxis, my partner Benjamin and I have pieced together a Long Distance Relationship for three and a half very strange years. We initially met in Kampala, five hours away from where I was living and working in Uganda’s rural western savanna. And for our second date, Benjamin spent a weekend visiting the safari lodge I managed.
After that, we were together as often as possible, logistics be damned. Irrationally, magnetically, we were drawn to one another despite the
Three and a half years, five countries, and a lifetime of WhatsApp later — these are some of the things I've come to appreciate about being in a Long Distance Relationship.
half-day bus journey that awaited us on either side of our weekend fling. But our dreamy bubble burst as we boarded two of the very last planes permitted to leave Uganda in the middle of March 2020.
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We never imagined our relationship would be without complication; he’s Norwegian and I’m from California — a geographical inconvenience at the very least. But, when we committed to staying together before retreating into our respective quarantines, we couldn’t have known what we were truly signing up for. The first six months were grueling: we witnessed our world implode via FaceTime on a connection that was so painfully slow, we rarely got a clear view of the comforting presence on the other side. Still, that blurry buoy saved me on the worst days of lockdown.
From then on, we’ve traversed a labyrinth of coming and going, exchanging relieved hellos for reluctant goodbyes just months later. But the end is in sight! I can finally say with certainty that we have had our final goodbye. A work visa is being processed, a wedding is being planned. And with that, the final opportunity for anyone I never asked to tell me that they could never do what we have done. A sentiment I find so comical because of how much I have actually enjoyed this often ill-fated, deeply misunderstood dynamic we’ve chosen to endure.
So, from the guest room of my parent’s house in my stifling suburban hometown, thousands of miles away from my own Valentine, I want to take an opportunity to openly contemplate the benefits of being in a Long Distance Relationship.
Alone Time
In addressing the most obvious concern first, I invite you to allow the spaciousness of separation to shift form and meaning, from Lonely to simply Alone. Yes, I get frustrated and anxious; I’ve been treading the chaotic tides of my own life for years now in search of somewhere to wash ashore. And I miss Benjamin every day. That does not go away, but I truly love being alone.
Like so many among us, a younger, dumber me was prone to walking so deeply into infatuation that I forgot about what lay beyond the haze. I too readily detached from the parts of myself that didn’t assimilate easily — the projects and ideas I once fervently pursued would hang around awkwardly just out of sight as my free time was replaced with togetherness. After a particularly intoxicating bout of lovesickness threatened to erase my sense of self entirely, I coveted my status as a single woman for the vast majority of my twenties. Ruthlessly protecting my independent personhood for years, anyone I feared might have intruded on my priorities was driven away.
Until I met Benjamin, of course. But, after learning the hard way once, I refuse to reduce my self in order to make space for someone else. I have new selves growing, new futures brewing. But I do still struggle to honor all that I am while I’m so easily distracted by the soft touches of love. So when I’m alone, I clearly redraw that boundary of self, several times over, carving it deeply for affect and good measure.
As individuals, Benjamin and I both prioritize healthy doses of Alone Time, which makes it all the more strange and sweet that we end up doing nearly everything together when we’re finally in the same place. Moving from long-distance lovers to quarantine companions and back
again has certainly twisted us up a bit. We’re gnarled together by circumstance, a semi-involuntary codependence that still sometimes feels fraught to both of us. And I’m sure that will change as time expands us, but for now, it feels akin to a precious, fleeting gestation and I’m holding on to it tenderly.
Still, alone time is something I know we both crave.
Our time apart is the pendulum swinging. Freedom within love, not in place of it. My mind quiets, my attention turns inward, I return to my first home. Aloneness offers us balance as we struggle to find the habitual normalcy to create it for ourselves.
Perspective
I’ve watched Benjamin walk away from me at an airport more times than I care to think about. And nearly every time, no matter how solid our footing, my mind has flashed the idea: What if he’s walking away for good? What if this time it doesn’t work out? This reflexive blip in my awareness forces me to gaze into a life without him like a portal into a universe where we never made it. It gives me a clarity that I don’t think most “normal” couples have the chance to experience in a large enough dose for the full potential of its impact.
Time together is sacred, not to be wasted dwelling and stewing. Of course we fight — patience runs thin and frustration boils over; there are cultural misunderstandings, lifestyle differences, and arguments over chores. But when I reach that pivotal moment when I’m able to choose just how reactive I want to be, I try to soften, returning then to the moments I wanted to feel his hands in mine and couldn’t. This finitude of time has draped a gauzy sheen over us, warping our dynamic in a way that I have yet to characterize as good or bad. And likely never will.
Our love has a paper trail, evidence of two lives uprooted in an effort to maintain a holy connection. Benjamin changed his career, with every possible complication that entailed. I am learning new tongues, plunging my roots into foreign soil for good this time. We’ve summited mountains of paperwork and paid a handsome sum to keep this relationship alive. And whether one of us is getting on a five hour bus or a twelve hour plane, our unwavering commitment to this relationship is on display with every decision. No matter the complication, we choose each other. Three and a half years of that builds trust.
Before meeting Benjamin, trust was something I generally lacked. Trusting that someone loved me enough to stay around for a year or two was an achingly new feeling for me. Trusting that someone wanted me, no matter when or where? And for a lifetime? It was difficult, at first, to fully grasp that as truth. Until that point, my attention had been difficult to retain for too long, eyes prone to flitting beyond my own world and any shared. I left the country more than I left the men, really — forever en route in search of some abstract and impossible freedom. But the lengths we’ve both gone to, the literal miles we’ve traveled, the sturdiness we ground into each time the world’s wildness threatens to blow us apart has reassured me that we are in this together.
Fearlessly. Endlessly. Unquestionably. Benjamin’s tenacity made me a believer. As if there was never
any other option but for him to love me. It healed me. The limitless, patient love of our Long Distance Relationship showed me that not only was I worthy of receiving it, but I was capable of reciprocating it. A realization that has expanded my understanding of what is real and possible, not only for this relationship, but for my whole world.
Communication
Unsurprisingly, clear and open communication is our only hope. From establishing that, as a treat, I always deserve a little good morning text, to learning how to navigate FaceTime amid a nine-hour time difference and two hectic work schedules, we had to clearly set our standards right away.
Being in a Long Distance Relationship during quarantine gave us the chance to get straight on every essential topic one must broach with their betrothed. Having literally nothing else to do, we sat together — some days silent and others full of painful questions — as the nightmare of 2020 unfolded around us.
We planned a future for ourselves and our communities: where we’d live, what society would look like, how far our plans would have taken us by then. Dreams we continue to work towards today. Any progress we've made thus far has surely been afforded us in part by the time taken to speak them into existence and support one another in our respective pursuits. That our mouths, full of hope and longing, spoke clearly then to our current reality still moves me. Only occasionally did we feel the weight of abject boredom. And in those moments, we had GeoGuessr.
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Betting the entirety of our relationship on communication made us brave in our vulnerability and reflective in our responses. In moments of discord, we were careful not to hide wounded behind our distance; intentional silence can be dangerous. A spell that’s more difficult to break the longer it's cast. Treading already uncertain grounds, we couldn't afford carelessness.
And when we were finally within the confines of COVID cohabitation, we put these skills to use. Our foundation of trust was laid during those endless phone calls at our lowest points. The ability we each developed to understand one another's nuanced tones and moods with little more than a shift in punctuation has now translated into a highly intuitive way of being with one another. I know that consistently clear, direct communication has been our lifeline. Daily, we are guided by the lessons we learned while waiting.
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So, is a Long Distance Relationship really worth it?
Ultimately, I believe Long Distance Relationships work for only the most patient and independent among us. Those willing to bear witness to the deepest, dustiest corners of their partner's mind while testing the boundaries of their physical bond. Although far from ideal, it’s worked for us. We've had space to grow freely on our own time, yet we've become closer than I've ever realized was possible. Since meeting, we've spent a year here, a few months there, and six months somewhere else; this entire time, all I’ve wanted is to find stillness. I crave a sense of home so deeply, it's turned into a real, embodied ache. But no matter the distance between us or where we land together, Benjamin has felt like home when I’ve not had one otherwise. I'd say that's worth it.