Distance Has a Way

Home is where the heart is. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. There are a lot of aphorisms like these meant to make us feel better about leaving home or leaving each other. But I think Jeff Tweedy of Wilco, in the great song “Radio Cure,” says it best: “Distance has a way of making love understandable.”

Things have come up lately—job switches, child-rearing, boredom—that make Mark and I question how long we’ll live where we do. I’ve never lived in one space for more than a few years, and as a kid I often moved every year. So I’m kind of obsessed with the idea of home. Finding one, leaving one, decorating one, hanging out on the couch in one… But whenever I feel like striking out for an entirely new destination, I don’t. I think about the people I would miss and I stay put.

That’s what most of us do, of course; we build our lives around certain people, and before we know it, no other way of living makes sense to us. Even if we live scant miles from New Jersey’s industrial wasteland. Even if our crazy-like-a fox landlord never returns phone calls, leaving us without air-conditioning in July and leaving our duck-loving French neighbors without a refrigerator for the past week. Do you have any idea how sweaty Berdey’s toddler thighs get on humid days, or how nasty those fat-encased duck legs look in my vegetarian freezer?

The truth is, so many of the people I love and the people I want in my life (not always compatible concepts, please note), do not live nearby. With few exceptions, the friends I value most I see the least. And it’s not because I’ve been globe-trotting. No, no, I’m the George Bailey of the relationship, tending the barely burning home fires while they’re off fighting Nazis and other grandiose things. Even the friends who I see on a regular basis don’t seem long for these shores.

Absence is just that, a void. Distance on the other hand, can be an enlightening thing, as Jeff Tweedy knows. When you’re gone, some silly conversation or incident is less likely to mess me up, and I won’t ever think we’re friends only because of proximity. I will miss you, value our correspondence all the more and look forward to whatever precious time we have together. The distance between us will give me clarity on why we are in each other’s lives. I will better understand you and better trust my feelings toward you.

When I was a little girl and always getting my feelings hurt over little-girl friendships, my mother would say, “Missy, she’s a fair-weather friend. You need to know the difference.” (Wiser words have never been spoken by an unwise woman on her fifth beer of the afternoon). I guess since those days I’ve always preferred the foul-weather kind of friend, the one you know will be there when things go to hell. The one you want to be there. At those times, the distance doesn’t matter at all, except for how it draws you back together again.

Of course, the happiest moments make for the best reunions. Like when I gave birth to Berdey and friends came from everywhere to welcome him. They marveled at his melon head and skinny limbs right alongside me. They shared in my sea change.

So to every one of my all-weather friends, let me state here how much you have meant to me. You are far-flung, put-yourself-out-there kind of people. And I love you for it. Despite the distance that may spread between us, from my direction or yours. Because of it.

Originally posted on Berdey.com