Let’s start with a story.
As I’ve mentioned before, I frolicked many a-summer away working at camp. The funny thing about working 15-16 hour days, 6 days a week with the same coworkers, rain or shine, hysterical laughter or hysterical tears,vomiting, diarrhea, sniffles, and the black death, is that it tends to bring you closer.
Some of my best friends are camp friends. Some of the most challenging and shaping moments of my life happened at camp.I had carrot cake for the first time at camp.
The years of camp crushes were also the most prevalent and ridiculous. There was a particularly obsessive and now embarrassing summer that I won’t go into other than saying that it didn’t end well and that summer was the first time a crush nearly drown me.
Ah but there was another crush who turned into a giggly, giddy, mutual thing, and eventually transformed into a boyfriend. We’ll call him Paul.
He had been working at camps for as long as I had, was six years older than me, tall, laughed at all my jokes, and had an adorable Midwestern accent. And he was a ginger.
I didn’t stand a chance.
Unfortunately, this was the relationship that made me learn the most about myself. The one that broke my heart in two and kicked off many months of alcohol abuse, prescription drugs, and therapy.
Fortunately, this was the relationship that did all that so that the next one could be a little better.
After a long and ridiculous chase, where we mostly just chased each other in circles terrified or getting caught or catching something, we dated.
First for a few weeks at camp and then on a prolonged end of summer vacation on the beach while we tried to forget that we were both jobless and homeless and one of us was definitely not from Washington and would need to go home eventually.
Finally, Paul booked a ticket and went home for some important family events, promising he’d be back in a couple of weeks.
Never trust a man who doesn’t book a return flight.
The following months were a mudslide of unspoken emotions and poor communication that led to him text breaking up with me, me writing a letter to express my feelings, him changing his mind and moving in with me (and my roommate in our one bedroom apartment), and eventually, after many sleepless nights not speaking to each other, him driving away with a plan to come back that never panned out.
The day Paul left was the first personal day I’d ever taken.
I was crushed like a crushed crush thing.
I bring this up for two reasons:
- Now that I’m emotionally removed from this story, I’ve realized it’s a pretty good one.
- Boyfriend just got a job an hour away and will no longer be living down the hill from me.
I spent a few hours crying over it yesterday, a fact I hate. He has weekends off and is only going to be an hour away but I hate that too.
This morning, a bit clearer-headed, I started thinking about why his leaving is so scary to me. My only real long-distance experience was with Paul. Intermittently and not always intentionally, but still long-distance.
I trust Boyfriend to the moon and back. I’m also going to miss him to the moon and back. Aw, well, life’s like that sometimes I suppose.