From In Between

Greetings from Arcadia,

In a departure from our normally scheduled program of me complaining about air travel and droning on about hiking, I’m doing something a little more…heartfelt. I am not a publicly affectionate person, and this is not easy for me to put out into the universe. I knew on an intellectual level that the separation would be hard, but it’s turned out to be a big part of travel when you are one half of a whole. It feels more honest to be up front about the sacrifices involved in seeing the world when you’ve got a home, animals, and a husband who all need you.

My dearest husband, did you ever imagine it would be this hard? You didn’t bat an eye when I said I wanted to see the world solo, but then we did this crazy thing and moved our whole lives 1,500 miles away from home in Michigan. And you had to make it all happen, and get our lives settled without me. And so you did. We’ve never been great at maintaining our connection over the phone, and I’m reminded of that fairly often these days. I’m still in awe of the fact that we lasted through three years of long distance in college. You’ve grown from this experience; already in the past few months you’ve become more of the “man of the house” than you ever were before, more responsible. I left a different version of you in Michigan and am getting glimpses of a New Dan since we upended our lives. And I’ve grown too. In lots of little ways. So, like every other tough situation in life, there’s the character building aspect to be thankful for. But there’s also a bit of mourning that shift to a more serious version of you. It’s not unwelcome, but hard nonetheless.

I want you to know that even though you’re running in circles trying to get used to a new, big job and a whole new city – you are here with me. To put it a bit more prosaically, you are riding along a rushing river in Chile, you’re holding my hand in the middle of a field of wildflowers in France, you’re looking up at dancing lights in the skies above Norway, and you’re driving a winding, deserted road in Ireland. Every step of the way. You’re the angel (or devil) on my shoulder, the voice in my head. And I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve thought “I wish you were here.” I don’t usually wish I was home with you, unless I’m having a particularly bad time, but God, I wish you were here.

It’s not usually the times you’d imagine that I particularly feel your absence, like when I’m eating alone at a restaurant (although I can’t stop myself from picking out the exact thing on the menu I know you would order…I know you so well), or when I’m falling asleep at night (I am quite certain you don’t miss my knees in your side). It’s when I’m feeling the most alive, when the wind is pressing my back and the sun is shining, and I’m looking at the most amazing sights I’ve ever seen. Or when I’m walking along a deserted beach, watching the waves crash in slow motion. When I’m feeling the most connected and happy and being the best version of myself. The most free version of myself. It doesn’t feel right or fair that you can’t be there with me in those moments. I want you to see it with your eyes too, and feel the wind and be incredibly happy with me.

And in those spaces, when I’m fiercely missing your presence, I feel like I’m in between. Like a piece of me is airborne, halfway across the Atlantic and waiting for you to meet me there. I’m in between this moment and the one where I get to hold your hand again and give you a big hug, wishing so hard to close the gap that I have to stop and pull myself back to the present.

I know now that some of those moments are more magical because it was just me there, feeling alive and alone. But I can’t help but wish that you get to experience that freedom too. I see you struggle, stress, work hard, and succeed (for the most part) to balance a very full plate, and I long to be a partner again, picking up some of the burden of daily life to make your load a little lighter. It feels incredibly selfish to leave you to handle it all, and even more heartless to be caring for other people’s animals when my own need my love and attention, and for all that I am sorry, truly.

This entire letter runs against what I’m going to say next, but if a woman can’t be contradictory (and me, the Contrarian-in-Chief), what is the point of living? I’ve learned this: I don’t need you as much as I thought I did. I want you in my life, very, very much. But at some point the distance has caused my perspective to shift, and there’s an awful lot of power in that distinction. I’m tougher than I thought. We are better together, and I believe, always will be. The time apart has made that clear too – although we drive each other to insanity on a regular basis, we also bring out the best in one another.

We thought that we were old hands at this long-distance thing. Turns out, I actually do love you more than I did then, that’s not just a cliché. It’s hard without my life partner on my left, holding my hand – laughing at me when I trip over my own two feet and making me laugh with a slightly eccentric sense of humor. It’s tough to have a meaningful conversation when the only time our schedules work for a blurry video chat is when you’re rolling straight out of bed at 5 am, or when I’m fighting to keep my eyes open at night.

The space in between is harder than I thought it ever would be.

Yours always,

Sarah