If you had told me several years ago I would be in a long-distance relationship, I would have laughed in your face. Why would I want to be in a relationship with someone whom I hardly ever see? The concept was not appealing, but Mike was.
Mike and I met at a soccer tournament when we were 12. Coincidentally, we then attended the same high school, and happened to be in the same class in Grade 7.
As fate would have it, we were automatically paired to do an assignment together, “Je Vous Presente..” in which we interviewed each other and found out we had much in common. It turns out we both had great taste in sitcoms. Our favorite television show was and still is Friends. It was a match made in heaven.
We quickly became friends and, in tenth grade, we started dating. And by dating, I mean a confidante told me Michael had feelings for me, so I agreed to go on a date. This was on Dec. 12, 2004 and he took me to see Elf. I laughed so hard, and not only at Will Ferrell in the film, but at this amazing guy who made me feel like the only girl in the world. Our relationship was effortless, he was my best friend.
After graduation, I continued on to Dawson College, whereas he went to study at John Abbott College. The separation was tough. I was so used to seeing him every day, in class, after class, in between classes. If I thought that the CEGEP distance was hard, boy, was I in for a rude awakening.
All was dandy until he decided to up and leave for New York City to further pursue his education in theatre.
I remember the March 2007 day perfectly. I was already upset because though the college was closed, my professor insisted we must rehearse for the play we were putting on as part of a graduation requirement. I got the call from my boyfriend who shared the good news that he was following his dream. I feigned happiness, rushed off the phone and headed to the bathroom where I literally sank. Against the wall, I stereotypically slid to the floor as tears streamed down my face in what must have looked like a scene from a cheesy chick flick.
I called my best friend, who tried to soothe me. As I walked out of those bathroom doors a concerned classmate asked what was wrong, and all I could mutter was, “My boyfriend is moving to New York” in downright disbelief. Poor thing, she didn’t even know what to say, she just hugged me. It was definitely what I needed.
All Mike told me was, “We are going to do this. There’s no question about it.” And he was right, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t have my doubts. I was worried he might meet some floozy off in New York City. But we’ve hung in there and have been together ever since.
Of course, it did help that his sister was in a long-distance relationship as well and they had recently become engaged. It kept me optimistic. I told myself it was meant to be.
That brings us to today. Now, he is in Toronto, and I am still hours away in Montreal.
When I tell people how long Mike and I have been dating for six years, it’s usually followed by a “Wow!”.
As their eyebrows furrow, they ask: “How old are you?” A general show of surprise then leads to a genuine appreciative “Good for you” smile or a “You’re out of your mind” grimace.
It has never felt long and, in comparison to a dear friend who has been dating her boyfriend for eight years, we are lagging behind.
Some may applaud this, others may question it, citing the need to sow my wild oats. I found “the one” when I was young, and I’ll be damned if I were to let him go.
If our time spent pursuing a long-distance relationship has taught me anything, it is that absence makes the heart grow fonder. I used to think it was some line but over the years it has proven to be true in every possible sense.
Do not get me wrong, frustration comes with the distance, it is kind of a package deal. But I just remind myself that there are worse situations and I am grateful to have him on the other end of that phone line.
