As I serve out my collegiate sentence in Austin, part of my heart has run off to California. Another fragment drove North and harbors in Arkansas. A third is rooted firmly in my hometown. Across multiple states and hundreds of miles, I am fragmented.
It’s hard to feel wholly myself when the largest parts of me are an expensive flight (or a lengthy road trip in solitude) away. The spontaneous hangouts with my best friend, the family dinners filled with civil debate and wisecracks, my boyfriend’s rides to and from school with periodic gas station stops to get a Red Bull and some Sour Patch Kids, all of it a thing of the past. These are snapshots in time that may never coexist again.
Long distance was always something I anticipated. From the beginning, I was determined to carve my own path, to not let the decisions of others commandeer my own. I still stand by that—it’s a bad idea to follow anyone to college. The choice should be yours and yours alone.
But the texts, the video chats, the phone calls, they aren’t enough. They’ll never be enough. Humans are social creatures, as they say. Nothing can replace the physical connection, the tight-knit bonds that only tangible moments can strengthen. Every couple on campus holding hands is a reflection of what I lack. Each theatrical movie release is one less that I can watch and laugh at with her. Meals eaten alone seem starkly void of familial laughter, and without a cat pressed warmly on my chest each night, my dinky bed has never felt more spacious.
So sometimes I can’t help but regret my independence. Should I have stayed closer to home? Should I have followed her to Chapman? Him, to Arkansas? It’s not too late to transfer, right?
Of course, I recognize these thoughts are unhelpful, but they still linger. I can pretty confidently say I’m not the only one thinking them, either. Everyone has someone, something they miss, and that’s completely normal.
However, I also recognize that leaping from the nest, alone, into uncharted skies, is probably the best possible way to grow. Before you can uplift others, you must learn to uplift yourself.
I’m deeply grateful for all that I’ve found in Austin—I do enjoy it here, I promise—and I never would have found any of it had I not set off on my own. I’m meeting new people, trying new things, learning how to live on my own, and I will no doubt be a better friend, family member, and partner because of it.
At the same time, there is room in me to mourn. Mourn the closeness, the convenience, the year-round connection. There is room in me to desperately miss my best friend, my family, my boyfriend, my cat.
Balancing both of these overwhelming feelings is hard, but certainly not impossible. Calls and texts keep us engaged in the day-to-day, synced-screen movie dates are a cozy alternative for date night, and transparent communication is obviously a must. On top of that, there’s no stronger motivation than looking towards the future. In March, I’m flying to California to spend a whole week with my best friend. Later that month, my boyfriend flies down to spend half his break in Austin. Not to mention summer is just around the corner, and for a few short months, all my favorite people will be in one place again. I can’t wait.
So, I march onward, taking it one day at a time, towards the next visit, the next flight, the next drive, because some people are always worth fighting for.