The Long Distance Life

Since moving to Wisconsin I constantly find myself having the following exchange.
Me: "So, where does your family live again?"
Them: "About twenty minutes from here. Yours?"
Me: "Well....."

When I was at college, plenty of people had left home to come to school. I am finding, though, that here in Wisconsin, a lot of people have been here for a long time. They belong to that particular group of human I've heard of, but rarely met: Born And Raised.

Although, to many of them, I am the rare, the minority. When asked to explain growing up as a missionary kid with "all those other missionary kids", I pause, my tongue seemingly pinned to the back of my teeth.

"Well, I guess it's just normal to you, right?"

I smile and nod, quietly mulling over this word.

Normal: Christmas presents in the mail.

Normal: Skype chats, long e-mails, poring over Facebook pictures of people I love.

Normal: Four time zones on my phone.

Normal: Someone always leaves.

In a single day, I might call my parents in California, text my brother in Oregon, Skype my sister in Australia, write my friend in South Carolina, send a letter to my other sister in Colorado, and call any of my good friends in Arkansas. This is my normal, and everyone in my immediate family lives this way. We've adapted to it. My sisters have some sort of sixth sense that tells them to start texting or calling me at the same time. It happens constantly. It hasn't struck me again until recently that this isn't the way most people live. People don't sign up for a long distance life.

It has its problems, for sure. The long distance life means you have to be creative if you want to keep being friends with people. One of my best friends and I have a book club, just the two of us. My little sister and I write letters back and forth across the ocean. My other sister and I watch the same shows or videos and then talk about them over texts and phone calls that never last long enough. I am constantly scheduling Skype dates, overdue phone calls, or preparing another letter.

A long distance life is one of words and shared images, lacking physicality and shared moments. Sometimes it is lonely and bittersweet, because no matter how many friends I make, I still miss the ones who are not there, the ones who were with me before. There's this tension, too, the struggle of giving attention and love to the people in front of me, and the ones who are spread out in multiple time zones.

My surrogate sister, Roz, calls me on her way home from work sometimes, and we talk in meandering sentences that circle and twist through familiar subjects that stay new and interesting no matter how many times we talk about them. Grace and I send each other short videos every week about our baking and cooking adventures. Elise knows after five seconds on the phone that I am not doing well. Our sisterhood is one of missing one another and doing something about it, of watering our friendship across the distance. It is my normal, and I wouldn't trade it.