Going the Distance

Perhaps the most difficult part of a long-distance relationship is the fear that once the distance has been added, you and your love may drift apart. Sure, things are a bit easier to maintain when distance has always been an obstacle that you've learned to conquer time and time again, but what happens when you spend nearly every day together and suddenly, it stops?

2 out of the 3 long distance relationships I've had evolved out of a friendship that started while I was visiting their city. After much nurturing, it only felt natural to take things to the next level. We walked into the relationship aware of the bumpy road that comes with long-distance, yet confident that the bond of our friendship rendered us more than prepared. And we were. I vividly remember learning the quickest routes to my man's home from both my parents' house and James Madison, and I kept my apartment door unlocked whenever I knew he was on the highway, on his way to me. Whenever we both had a free weekend, you could bet that we were road tripping, taking turns visiting each other's friends and family in various cities. We went the distance together, playing "passenger-must-get-drunk-and-be-the-DJ" every step of the way. From the outside looking in, we were perfect. And for a while, we were. Before it all turned sour, it was the most exciting, spontaneous relationship I've ever been a part of. That still holds true to this day. The sex, the road trips, the random social gatherings...everything, were all so unpredictable; no two experiences were the same, and that's what keeps a relationship exciting. A girl can only be so lucky to embark on a relationship of this magnitude and be able to keep it for life.

Even still, with all the spontaneity, something was missing. Yes, the fun was there, the adoration was there, and the passion and affection were there, but we still didn't have enough to last. If you were to ask me a year ago, hell, even months ago, I'd say it was because of infidelity. And while that may be a large part of the reason why we ended, a larger underlying issue stifled our growth. In a long-distance anything, there must be reassurance that no matter how much distance is between you two, the importance of their role in your life is never unwavering. No one wants to feel disposable, and we often underestimate the amount of effort it takes in order to make sure they know they aren't. Infidelity wasn't the issue. The notion that I wasn't worth fidelity was what helped me walk away without thought of a second chance.

The same goes with friendships.

Calling someone my "friend" is hardly enough. Living at least 250 miles away from most of my friends, there's a mutual effort that needs to be exerted in order for our friendship to thrive, and it warms my heart to know that we're pretty kickass when it comes to this.

My priority when I moved to NYC wasn't to live a lavish life and become a professional socialite, ready to give any and everyone who visited a mind-blowing experience with my breadth of knowledge on NYC hotspots. When I moved here on January 15, 2011, my only concern was expanding my network. I had no clue what I wanted to do as a career, so I dedicated my time to meeting as many people as possible and becoming somewhat of a professional networker until I found my passion. When my 24th birthday rolled around, I was excited to share NYC with my favorite people. I had 16 confirmed guests, and it warmed my heart to know that after Hurricane Irene ruined my plans last year, I'd be spending this birthday with those that meant the most to me. After a rough night of fighting with my then significant other, nothing made me happier than traveling to Midtown to greet people who made breathing that much easier.

We all checked into our hotel rooms, danced and laughed over cocktails, and roamed Union Square and the Lower East Side for birthday fun. I couldn't believe that nearly everyone I loved--from childhood, to college, and beyond--had traveled the distance just to see me happy on my birthday.

It was better than any card. Better than gifts. Dare I say it? It was better than money. These women and men who I love so much, text, GChat, and email everyday, and update on my life regularly saw fit to be by my side and heal a heart they didn't even know was hurting. I suddenly forgot about the fight from the night before. The tears and sadness disappeared. To them, the term "friend" wasn't enough, and they showed me how indispensable I am to them. Looking back, I realize that those 16 people all left the same state to come and be with me without once suggesting that little ol' me travel to them. Sure, it would've been a lot easier, but that's not always what it's about.

With a long-distance, you just have to do what it takes to show them that they really are important to you. You do what it takes to show that their companionship isn't disposable. In that past relationship, what I needed was fidelity. And while that'll always be a need, my new lovers have shown me something new. Nothing says "I love you" like going the distance to be by their side when they need you the most--and even when they don't.

Rewrite History.

Every city I frequent or once frequented holds memories of those I shared those times with. Arlington will always remind me of my best friend: our morning trips to Chick Fil A for a breakfast date before I dropped her off at work and went back to bumming it in her unbelievably comfy bed (still the best bed I've ever slept in), being introduced to new faces as she blends her worlds over endless drinks in Clarendon, and brief stops to her house before jetting back to NYC. Chick Fil A dates at Ballston Mall are still a tradition of ours. Norfolk will always remind me of my college boyfriend and our nights filled with debauchery and morning-afters filled with planning beach trips. Driving through Maryland reminds me of the times a former friend and I shared as I stopped through on my way to DC. The list of cities and memories is endless, and even when friendships and relationships terminate, as much as we'd like to, you can't erase fact, experience, history.

For months, though, DC has been a tricky one. Though my college boyfriend and I frequented DC, dating a DC native brings about a gamut of experiences that only a native can provide. And having other friends that live in the area, it was a little more difficult to enjoy nights out as we inconveniently passed restaurants and venues he and I once frequented. I always wondered when or if I'd ever be able to create new memories in a city that wreaked of him. I seriously doubted that it'd ever happen. This weekend, however, I felt something monumental.

As I ride up I-95 back to NYC, I'm overwhelmed with joy and more inspired than I've ever been. This morning, my friends and I stood at the national mall and watched President Obama take oath for his 2nd term in office. I listened to him deliver a speech so moving that he continues to hold his ranking as one of the greatest orators I've ever had the pleasure of hearing. Tears welled in my eyes as I witnessed dignitaries like Joe Biden, Bill Clinton, and the Obamas gaze in amazement while my church's choir performed. I've never been prouder to attend Brooklyn Tabernacle. While standing there, though, I thought about the last time I was on the national mall, and while I'll always remember the late night stroll with my ex, Obama's inauguration leaves a gigantic footprint in my memory bank. I've never felt such pride in my race, my country, and in my decision to witness it up close instead of in the comfort of my own home. Now, when I think of DC, I'll remember the day I stood and witnessed history. I'll remember the day I got inspired to go back to NYC and take on my new leadership role with utmost confidence in my abilities, just as President Obama did and will continue to do for the next four years.

I've slowly learned to not become bitter when memories flood my mind of times I shared with people who are no longer in my life. No longer do I only appreciate memories made with my closest friends as I visit their cities. Whether the relationship currently exists or not, everything we did, every place we went, every joke we told, and every memory made was exactly what I wanted at that point in time, and I can't go through life wishing it would magically disappear from my mind's register. Enjoy the memory for what it is or was at that time, and move on. And if you don't want to remember it, don't grow bitter. Simply rewrite history. That's exactly what I did.

A New Direction.

I debated ending this blog. "Long-Distance Lovers" turned me into something like a masochist, forcing me to dig into the darkest depths of my soul and the most delicate part of my heart in order to recount instances of heartbreak that would make for a great post. And while I'm always pleased with the finished product, my spirits get low, at least for the first few hours after posting. And it was a lot easier when I was actually hurting. I didn't have to search for those gut-wrenching emotions, because they were always present, I was always needing to vent, and always feeling them.

But not anymore. Now, I'm happy, and have been for a while.

2 weeks ago, I had a revelation.

After my recent ex and I broke up, I'd constantly talk to family and friends about our demise, searching for answers and writing open letters that I never actually planned to deliver to him. It was cathartic--spilling every emotion and thought onto the paper. And then I started this blog. Even though I was getting over how things ended, I'd constantly dwell on aspects of our relationship, and that would pull me 5 steps back after I prided myself in taking 10 steps forward. I'd look at his Facebook page. When I was bored, I'd wander over to his Twitter. I'd sit and think about everything I'd say if I ever saw him again. And while I suddenly woke up surprised that this "time" I heard so much about actually did heal my wounds, seeing pictures of him and status updates really vexed my spirit. I went from heartbreak to anger, which did me no good; the opposite of love isn't hate, but rather indifference. I hadn't reached the state of indifference. A close male friend of mine and a mentor of sorts once told me, "Fuck him. Pretend he died. Don't check his social networks. There's nothing there for you anymore," but it wasn't always that easy. I was used to seeing what he was up to, and it was hard to quit cold turkey. I was enjoying being a masochist; there would NEVER be anything on his social networks that would make me happy, but anything could trigger my rage. The mere sight of his face could trigger it. But here I was, curing my boredom with emotional cutting. I had to stop, but how?

When I went home for Christmas, I was greeted with a beautiful new car that was everything I didn't even know I wanted. I didn't ask for a new car. To be honest, when my parents asked what I wanted for Christmas, I said "just new contact lenses and gym clothes. Oh, and a job." Not only did I get contact lenses and gym clothes, but I chauffeured my brother and his new wife around in my new car. My entire family sat around the table and talked about life, love, and careers, and I was so full of love. I had every reason to be happy. I was in a state of sheer bliss, and refused to let emotional cutting ruin my holiday. It had been a while since I looked at his page, and not coincidentally, I couldn't remember the last time I was in a funk. There was no way I was checking up on any of his social networks. There was nothing for me there. I got rid of every email, letter...anything I had on my hard drive, my room, or my car that reminded me of a painful past, determined to go into the New Year not holding onto the things that should be left in 2012.

The day after Christmas, I jetted back to NYC in a horrible storm to make it for another interview at Girl Scouts of the USA. I was confident in my abilities, but refused to let the fact that it was my 3rd interview render me confident and complacent. I prepared, studied my resume, and mapped out social media strategies in case they wanted to see what I can do for the company. I nailed my interview, and found out New Year's Eve that I got the job. Unreal. My dream company, and I'm working for it.

Then it hit me.

God is making SO many things happen for me because I simply sat back and let Him take control over my life. I learned to trust him completely. No matter what may or may not happen the way I want it to, I know God has a better plan for me, and because I put this trust in Him, He's giving me unspeakable joy and peace that surpasses all understanding. Why would I throw all of that away by emotional cutting when I'm bored? It would be a slap in God's face to continue thinking about/writing about/and keeping tabs on the past when He's making the present an absolute dream. So, I won't. And for weeks, I haven't. I have no desire to see what exes are doing. I have no desire to speak to those who have hurt me. I wish them well, and I pray for them (I hate doing it, but my mama taught me to do that.), but I'm ready to leave them in the past and never speak of them again. It feels good, this "new beginnings" thing.

Door Slammers.

"I want you to stay..."


So apparently, I'm a door slammer. It's not what you think, though. Ironically, it's not me slamming the doors, as one would expect.

A few weeks ago, I turned on the TV because I needed background noise as I primped in preparation to see a few of my friends at a comedy show. I wasn't in the mood to hear any particular artist or song, so I flipped to a random station and returned to staring at myself in the mirror, focusing on this one particular curl in the front that still hasn't recovered from years of heat damage. While my attention was on my hair, my focus shifted as a relationship specialist took the stage and began talking to a young woman who was heartbroken after her boyfriend left her to be with another man.

"There were a few signs that I ignored, and I gave him the benefit of the doubt a lot. I didn't want to think that he just might be...gay. But we fought all the time, and we broke up repeatedly. It was almost like he was pushing me away with his actions and with every argument, but I couldn't leave. I refused to leave. It wasn't until he said he needed to talk to me and I planned a romantic dinner for what I thought would be the night of our engagement that he said, 'I met someone. And I want to continue seeing them. It's a man. I'm sorry, but I'm leaving you.' I was broken hearted, and still am."

The relationship expert told her that she's a door slammer. In spite of the issues in her relationship--the constant fighting, him pushing her away, the repetitive breakups, and his suspect actions--she had an image of what their relationship should be, and she held on to that. She wasn't letting that go. It wasn't until HE slammed that door in her face that she was forced to let go of the perfect relationship she wanted and face the fact that her actual relationship was imperfect and over.

This segment of the show felt almost invasive; it was a mirror of my own life. No, my ex didn't leave me for another man (at least I don't think), but his sexuality was repeatedly the topic of discussion amongst my friends, family, and even within my own mind. I defended him while we were together, but I see it even more now that we aren't an item. Some signs I ignored, and some I couldn't, but I wanted so badly for this particular long-distance relationship to be a successful one. I pretended many of the red flags weren't raised, and I fought to keep my man. But we fought constantly, just like the woman on the show did with her boyfriend. We held discussions about the future of our relationship, and doubted its strength to thrive in these conditions. With every argument, I felt like I was being pushed away, but I'd be damned if I was the one to let go. I had an image of a perfect long-distance relationship embedded in my mind, and regardless of the tears, fights, and sleepless nights, I was gonna make that happen. We took turns hurting each other, but for a moment (I think) we both believed that the pain wasn't enough to demolish what we'd built. It was almost like I was delusional. We were delusional. Soon, the doors began slamming in my face. After another night of coming second to a female friend that held no regard for our relationship, I decided to let go. I couldn't believe that he, an insecure man, disrespected my insecurities and reservations after I'd pacified his.

Door slammed.

At one point in our conversation, he boasted about being dishonest. "Yeah, I've been dishonest about a lot. I can't remember everything, but I don't tell you the truth about a lot of things."

Another door slammed.

After asking him not to go out with this female friend because of her disrespectful nature, he chose to anyway, disregarding the pain I'd feel only a few hours after our breakup.

Yet another door slammed.

I later accepted that yes, he is an insecure man, and the reassurance he gets from superficial friendships and "yes" men keeps him going. That helped me let go. I let go of the image of the perfect relationship I had plastered across my mind. I let go of the image of the perfect man I'd hoped he'd become. I let go of the image of a perfect me that would be the perfect fit for the perfect him. It helped me finally slam a door on my end.

The most important door.

I didn't see this segment until months after all doors were slammed, but the resemblance to my dear friend's situation was so uncanny that I had to share it with her.

"Apparently, I'm a door slammer."
"Whose doors you be slammin'?" she responded.

Naturally, she was confused, but I took a minute to explain. She simply responded, "Wow."

She's never been one of too many words, so I didn't expect a grand response, but she later confessed, "I think I'm a door slammer, too."

She was in a similar situation; the image of what she wanted her relationship to be was her greatest stronghold. It's not a thing of desperation, I believe. People plan things everyday. We have expectations of how our day should pan out, which is why we often say, "I'm having a bad day." We hold so tight to our expectations that when anything goes wrong, we're crushed, aggravated, angry, sad, and so on. So naturally, when it comes to matters of the heart, we're holding on even tighter to those expectations. Just as we wake up each morning with the same expectation of that perfect day, we wake up each morning hoping that this day will be the one that the perfect relationship begins to come to fruition. We remain hopeful.

My friend and I had been hopeful for far too long, and thankfully, our admittance to each other helped us remained strong as we slammed the doors.

They're still closed.

Bedmates.

I’d fall asleep in your embrace, blissfully smothered by the smell of your deodorant. I drifted away as I dreamt, and with one early morning glimpse from across the mattress, you’d pull me into your arms again.

203.74 miles.

…just to be bedmates in the full-size mattress that lay lonely on the floor with hardly enough back support for the back pains I ignore. The sheets, though scarce, were not needed. We were bedmates.

That bed has become foreign, and I found a new mate in the roll of tissue I’ve stolen from the bathroom in the wee hours of the morning. I’ll return it before everyone wakes. Together, we lay in my Brooklyn bed, and I smother him with the makeup I’ve been too complacent to remove lately. I sit him on the nightstand as I dream, stealing just enough to lay on my pillow and catch the tears that fall in my sleep. And before the sun comes up, I pull him close for one last embrace before returning him to his bathroom post. I hate these memories of being your bedmate.

Months later, I lay in my bed, sniffling uncontrollably as I wipe water from my eyes. I keep reminiscing. I don’t miss the days of being your bedmate, though the memories are so vivid. Once again, I’m forced to steal the tissue and make it my bedmate. But finally, the tissue I’m stealing isn’t wiping up tears from you.

I hope this cold goes away soon.

Let's kiss while standing on opposite sides of the State Line until we trick ourselves into believing a long distance thing could work.

The Pursuit of Happiness.

O. Chambers once said, "If through a broken heart God can bring his purposes to pass in the world, then thank Him for breaking your heart." This really resonated with me, because if I'd never turned to God before, I turned to Him when I had a broken heart. My last breakup was probably one of the toughest. It had been a long time coming, and you'd think that knowing it'd end ugly would prompt me to admonish my heart and prepare for the worst, but nope. Once the relationship ended, I quickly needed peace of mind. There's a saying that's plastered across Instagram that says something like, "The amount of pain you experience after a breakup is directly proportionate to the amount of energy you put into the relationship." How true is that? Without a doubt, the reason why my relationship ending was so painful was because I'd spent so much energy trying to salvage it when I felt it crumbling at my fingertips. There was no reason why we should've been together, yet there we were, going through the motions and calling it "love." That wasn't love. But thankfully, having exhausted all possibilities and being spent in every way imaginable, I had no choice but to go to church and pray for peace of mind. And I got it. So much so, that when he called and asked to "talk," I respectfully declined. I valued my happiness after spending night after night in a depressive state. Reflecting on where I am now, my heightened sense of self-worth, and my inexplicable joy, I can only thank God for yanking me from my situation and forcing me to seek Him for happiness. And that doesn't always come only after you've spent hours in the church, praying for a mighty move of...something grand. See, my problem was that I put God-like expectations on a flawed man and was heartbroken when he didn't measure up. I looked to him for happiness, and I didn't get it. But I turned to God, and instead of sending resounding trumpets and an overflow of joy, He sends a downpour of things that he knows makes my heart smile. My happiness comes in the form of LOLCats and Puffy Cheetos and red wine. It comes in the form of breathtaking sunsets, trains that come right on time, short lines at Starbucks, and a Tuesday night lineup of my favorite shows. My happiness is 2 hours of "Friends" every night on Nickelodeon, and art galleries that carry my favorite paintings. Oh, and best of all, my friends.

For whatever reason, I didn't think certain friends wanted to be bothered with me. I'm a venter. I vent about my problems until I get them out of my system and have nothing more to say. If I could buy a mannequin that I can tell a million times the same problem, I would. As much as I need to talk instead of internalizing my issues until they disappear, I do sometimes feel bad that my friends' GChat windows are filled with me spilling my problems even if I don't require helpful feedback. And sometimes, I do text, "I need some encouraging words" and hope that they have something that will bring me off the ledge. While I have certain friends who hear my troubles as they come, there are a few that I don't want to burden with the things that make me upset. Ciera was one of those people.

Ciera and I got extremely close when she came back from her 18-month deployment in Afghanistan. She was away, and during her time gone I had befriended her core group of girls. Using each other's personal stories as material for our creative writing classes, Ciera and I quickly bonded as we spent most nights in Starbucks with our laptops and our lattes. We were writers, and she got me. Even in our being close, I was hesitant to divulge all of my private information in an effort to not scare her off or burden her. One day, though, I went against my "rule" and told her that my then boyfriend cheated, and I left him. She and I met in Starbucks, and after asking about my weekend, I broke the news.

"We broke up. He cheated on me. Twice, apparently. I cried a bit, but I think it's out of my system. I'll be okay." 

Tears flowed from Ciera's eyes. "I can't believe he did that to you. You're such a good girl and you don't deserve that. I feel silly for getting emotional, but you've done so much for him, and I know you have your flaws, but you didn't deserve that."

I suddenly felt silly for thinking I couldn't talk to her about my problems. It wasn't until I became completely vulnerable and  emotionally exhausted that I turned to her for an encouraging word and receive more than I could've asked for. This receptiveness carried on even after we graduated and I moved to NYC.

Nine months after ending that relationship, I found myself becoming emotionally invested in the friend who actually gave me valuable advice to help me get through that breakup on the day our relationship ended. We started out as great friends, and as our conversation grew, so did our affinity for each other. For months, he was with a girl who he complained about daily, and pretty soon, he began professing his love for me and even spent hours on the phone discussing how life would be when he'd finally leave her and we'd be together. I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I'd accepted a relationship like this. But I did, and our demise left me just as hurt and confused as I was throughout the duration of our "friendship." Things escalated, and he did eventually leave his girlfriend, but after just a month of it being "us," he decided that he wanted to live the single life, in spite of the dreams he fed me. Naturally, I was crushed. I went home and talked to my family about it, and they had little sympathy. It started out shady, and of course the ending was a reflection of how we began. As much as I hated him, I had only myself to blame.

I needed to find happiness, and quick. Being around my family was amazing as usual, but I needed more. Luckily, Ciera saw fit to see me before I went back to NYC.

"What time does your flight leave? I really wanna see you before you go." She was in town for drill, and could escape just long enough to have a catch-up sesh. She had no idea I was hurting, but her fervency in meeting up with me broke me down emotionally, and I knew I'd be venting once more before heading home to New York. I told her that I had a late flight, but it didn't matter. I arrived at the airport 2 hours before my flight, and as soon as I pulled up in the departure lane, there she was, sitting in front of the airport, dressed in her full army uniform, and ready to talk. I told her everything, even the parts I was ashamed of. I was completely candid, as I know she expected of me. Spilling the darkest parts of my life to her, she gave nothing but love, support, and understanding in return. We sat for an hour, confessing, giving advice, asking questions, and seeking answers. Because of my poor decisions, I was drained emotionally, and backed up against a wall. It was all my fault. I didn't deserve to be happy, but for that moment, in front of that Richmond airport, God sent me happiness in the form of a friend.