In my life, distance is relative.
Over the past decade I’ve lived in 6 states/countries and made a blessed multitude of great friends, most of whom I am still deeply tied. For the past ten years I’ve lived no less, and usually much more, than a 13 hour drive from where I grew up and where all of my immediate family still calls home.
As such, physical places across the globe are intimately tied to specific, unique, life-forming experiences and people.
I have returned to old homes, and still feel like a piece of my soul is there. I’ve met up with friends in completely different locations and feel that same resonance.
I love that as a crazy, on-the-move, searcher I can find these touchstones.
I never really had a favorite person. Or a favorite place.
And then, I met my person.
Home was redefined, distance was complicated [again].
But what I’ve learned, and relearned, and relearned, over the past four years of near and far with my partner is that as messy and weird and painful and downright yucky as separation can be, we have home in each other.
When I feel lost, or misplaced, no matter where I find myself living, I find peace with him.
I know that at the end of the day, wherever I lay my head, he is with me – and now, thankfully, usually brushing his beardy face on mine.
The Art of the Everyday, January 6 – My Favorite: What’s the most time you’ve ever spent apart from your favorite person? Tell us about it.