invisible string

ac writes: on long distance friendships, grieving time, and holding those you love close

Growing up in Arkansas is a very individual experience. I’m not just talking about the Toad-themed festival that my hometown throws every year (true story) or the high school sorority I was a part of (I’ll write an essay about that later). What I find unique about Arkansas, at least compared to some of the friends that I met in college, is that most of my peers stayed within the state for post-high school education. Out of a class of over 800, I could name maybe 10 that I know who moved away from our small, toad-obsessed town to bigger cities (or any city) to get their degree. There is nothing wrong with having not done this, by the way. Genuinely, that is not the point of this newsletter. Let me get that out of the way.

So, it is 2020, and COVID has ended the last quarter of my senior year of high school. No prom, no school musical, no graduation, nothing. This is not a COVID essay, but rather the realization that my departure from Conway, Arkansas came without the pomp and circumstance that my younger self had imagined. In all honesty, I spontaneously struggled with friendship throughout adolescence. In all-but-cliche fashion, my “friend group” would often bicker, ignore, and exclude each other. I was both on the inside and outside of this behavior, and I am not dismissing my role in that, but I also developed a hyper-sensitivity to the behavior of those around me because of it.

Fortunately, by the end of senior year, pandemic and all, I had found the friends that I cherished, that I knew would be there for the rest of my life, and that I still talk to (or live with). They are incredible people, and I am often overwhelmed with gratitude that they are in my life. So, when it came time to depart our town, I bid them farewell, gave them hugs as we tried and failed to dry our eyes, and got in my car to head to St. Louis. I was about to be surrounded by people who came from across the country, across the world, and were planning on scattering back across it once graduation came and went. What I didn’t realize at this time was how much that would affect me.

My parents both graduated from the same college as the people that are still their closest friends. My godfather has known my dad since they were children and my mother’s college roommate is probably her best friend to this day. It set up an expectation in my head that people that you meet during “the best four years of your life” are the people who will surround you for the Big Moments in your life, both physically and emotionally. But I imagine it’s a bit different when those people that you befriend in college are not only from different states but also plan to move on once the tassels have turned.

New York, Chicago, St. Louis… the world is truly their oyster. And I am so incredibly proud of them.

Then

My sophomore year, I remember telling my mother that I knew I wasn’t prepared for graduation, that I would be digging my claws into these people because I loved them too much to lose them. Two years later, that fact was still true. It was a five-ish hour drive from St. Louis, Missouri to Conway, Arkansas and I cried most, if not all, of that journey.

There is a special sort of grief that comes with not losing, necessarily, but just separating from people who you know have changed your life. I truly think I met brilliant, world changing individuals, and it is an honor to have crossed paths with them. But we are now separated by miles and inflated airline prices, and it has become harder and harder to hold on to those friendships when you aren’t studying for exams in the library together.

Say what you want about the impact she had on “TikTok Poetry” but Rupi Kaur said it beautifully:

Roman poet Sextus is deemed to be the origin of the phrase “absence makes the heart grow fonder.” I’m sure you have all been inundated with this quote throughout your life, whether that was due to a pet that ran away or a lover that is since long lost. It’s one that I have frequently reminded myself of during this time in my life. And, trust me, it’s true. Not having the shared classes or casual run ins on Mudd Field makes it much easier (and more likely) to paint those moments in nostalgia, knowing that they will never happen again. There is a cynical, self-annihilating part of me that believes that I did not cherish these encounters as they happened, but rather dismissed them as routine. I regret that, and wish I had savored that time while I had it.

Distance has made my heart grow fonder, yes, but what Sextus didn’t care to inform me was the unavoidable grief that is attached to the reminiscence of times past. I will never get that back, I know that. I have so much coming up that I am so excited about, I know that too. But that does not change the fact that, above everything else, I wish I could sit on the hand-me-down couches inherited from our apartment’s predecessors and talk to the friends in my life that are not as close anymore.

The friends that I made in college knew everything about me, and yet they also knew all of my nothings. That is the beautiful part of truly loving and caring about someone that it makes it so much harder to let them go. While I am so proud of their successes when I see them online, what I miss the most isn’t being the first to know about the big achievements but the knowledge that their classmate annoyed them today or the menial assignment which will probably take them fifteen minutes but is a nuisance to complete in the first place. It’s a feeling bigger than just grief or nostalgia. It is a phantom limb.

Now

I don’t actually have a solution for alleviating these feelings, I am still figuring it out. We text, we share moments, but I think it’s a lot harder to articulate how much someone means to you when you can’t walk across the hall or drive down the street to tell them. And the distance between us, figuratively, feels as though it grows each day. It’s not like the door is closed forever. It is just a little bit harder to turn the knob from this far away.

We spent basically four years of our lives, those impactful four years where you leave your adolescence and enter adulthood, with each other. We were each other’s goalie, defender, and protector of the others’ hearts. They taught me the beauty of trust, knowing that you were trusted in return. These women, we had our own language, a dictionary full of understood glances and inside jokes. But like most dialects, it has gone unused and out of practice for so long, I sometimes fear I have forgotten it.

These friendships are my native tongue, and while it may be unused at the moment, I always will know it will be with me for the rest of my life. I am tied to these people, these incredibly beautiful and truly magical people, and though the tie between us have been stretched a little further since we first met, it is not unbroken. From wherever I am to wherever they are, we are a part of each other. And that fact is one that I will cherish, despite the grief. I will cheer them on until I run out of air, and I hope that the tautness of our invisible string will loosen over time, that one day we will see each other again.

Favorites of the Week

In my pursuit of watching the best picture Oscar nominations, I finally got around to watching Anora (dir. Sean Baker). Started the first season of Abbott Elementary which I am very excited about and FINALLY finished reading The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky. More importantly, Kendrick’s Super Bowl performance. Cannot stop thinking about it. To Pimp A Butterfly is one of my favorite albums of all time and I think this was executed perfectly. I also now know way too much about the Kendrick versus Drake lore. I also learned how to make an Old Fashioned at my side bartending job. Didn’t like it (and I used the wrong whiskey.. oops), but a cool new skill has been unlocked.

This is where I leave you for now. As always, take care of yourself. We’ll talk soon <3