Long Distance
“Some friendships don’t fade with distance — they stretch, and somehow grow stronger.”
I used to think the idea of a long-distance friendship or relationship was ridiculous.
“That would never last,” I’d say, certain that closeness was measured in miles and not in meaning.
But somewhere between sixteen and twenty-one, I realized that distance doesn’t destroy connection — it reveals who’s truly meant to stay.
My first long-distance friend was Abbey. We met when I was 16 and she was 18. We probably saw each other three times a year, yet that never once kept us from knowing every detail of each other’s lives. Whether it was hour-long FaceTime calls or random daily Snapchats, we always found ways to stay connected. And somehow, through all that distance, she became one of the few people I’d move mountains for.
After high school, I gained a few more long-distance friends — people who used to be part of my every day. The ones I saw at lunch, in class, on the weekends. Suddenly, the people who filled every corner of my routine became voices through my phone screen. “See you tomorrow” turned into “Miss you always.”
It’s a strange phenomenon that happens in your twenties. Life speeds up, and everyone’s story starts to unfold in different directions. You realize how quickly things change, how some people drift away quietly, and how others — the right ones — remain constant, no matter the miles.
Then there are the “I’m coming to visit you” friends. The ones who don’t always say much, but when they show up, it feels like no time has passed at all. For me, that’s Emilee.
Emilee and I went to high school together. We weren’t especially close back then — more like familiar faces passing in the hallways. But after graduation, we reconnected, and she’s been flying into my life ever since. Literally. Whether I was in Europe or back home in Michigan, she always found her way to me at exactly the right time.
She’s the kind of friend who makes you laugh until you can’t breathe, who reminds you that joy doesn’t have to be complicated, and who brings you back to yourself just by being around. We don’t talk every day. We don’t need to. When we’re together, it’s 2 a.m. conversations that stretch into forever — the kind where you realize how rare it is to be fully understood by someone.
We’re not overly sentimental or glued to our phones, but there’s this unspoken understanding: no matter what’s going on, if one of us ever truly needed the other, we’d show up. No questions asked.
We live completely different lives — she’s chasing her career while I’m chasing adventure — but somehow we still run parallel. We cheer each other on from opposite corners of the world, celebrating every little victory as if it were our own.
And I think that’s the most beautiful part about long-distance friendships — they teach you what connection really is. It’s not about constant communication or being in the same room. It’s about the kind of loyalty that doesn’t ask for proof. It’s love that exists quietly, consistently, and without conditions.
Somewhere along the way, I realized that these friendships made me believe in long-distance relationships too — the idea that love, in all its forms, can survive distance if both people are willing to reach across it. It made me believe that when you’re in your twenties — constantly rerouting your life, changing paths, chasing new dreams — you can still build something real.
Because love doesn’t always live in the same city, or even on the same continent. Sometimes it lives in the effort — the calls, the visits, the check-ins, the knowing.
And maybe that’s what growing up is really about: learning that you can change your whole life without losing the people who are meant to stay in it.