Every time we say goodbye: the truth about doing long distance

 

I have a love/hate relationship with Heathrow Airport.

If I’m standing in Arrivals, it’s the greatest place in the world because I’m waiting for my fiancé. John lives in America (in Minnesota, if you know your states), so we only get to see each other every eight weeks or so.

I get there for the time that his flight lands and strategise and elbow my way to the front of the silver barriers, then spend the next 60 minutes anxiously scanning the faces of people pushing trolleys, dragging kids and shivering in shorts until I see him.

This also gives me the chance to watch other people’s reunions, which is the best way to pass time when you’re a nosy people-watcher in a good mood. Last time a family with Northern accents had brought along a scarecrow called Tommy, and I watched a tanned, slightly dazed-looking teenager run straight into his parents’ outstretched arms. You only get that in movies or episodes of Parenthood or at the airport.

There are all these mini heart-lurching moments while you wait, like when you think a man with a similar haircut could be him but isn’t, or that guy who has a red hoody is him but isn’t, and then suddenly John is there, walking towards me with a massive grin.

There’s nothing like that first hug after eight weeks apart.

Imagine holding your breath and ducking under water. Your heart is still pumping but your whole body starts prodding you to get oxygen. Your lungs burn and your brain struggles to focus on anything other than breathing.

When you resurface and take that first enormous gulp of air, you understand how completely brilliant and perfect being able to breathe is. Seriously, WOW. You feel alive, in the most basic but fantastic way. Of course, after the first couple of minutes it becomes less amazing and just regular, the way you’re supposed to live – until the next time someone throws you into the water.

After that first hug it’s like we’re continuing from the last day we saw each other. He’ll hold my hand while he tells me about the annoying guy on the plane; one of us buys coffee from Costa and the other gets a table; we get on the Tube to Central with the suitcases, and laugh at adverts.

We always have that invisible link that you carry around with everyone you love even when you’re on your own, like a notebook of names, photos and facts about them stored in your heart. Even if you’re just thinking about whether you remembered to buy grapes or what was the name of that actress in that thing, the notebook is still safe in you somewhere. It opens up when you get a message from them or you find a stupid t-shirt slogan you think they would laugh at, or see a weird-looking cat that you want to tell them about. Sometimes, when you miss them, you open it up yourself and flick through conversations, snapshots and memories.

Another way of thinking about our relationship when we’re not physically together is that it’s like a shared folder on Google Drive. It floats somewhere in this thing we know as the Cloud, and while the thing it is – the folder icon we see on our screens – is intangible, it does exist. It also has 3D components scattered around the world, in the form of server centres and wires, whose unique properties can be matched up to form that thing we know functions and operates and is completely real, even if we can’t poke it or pick it up.

The weeks in between go in phases. Often weekends are harder than days when you can force your brain to think about work for eight hours. Being busy is the aspirin to your headache. In week one you reluctantly relearn your solo routine, resenting something that seemed so normal just eight days ago. By week two that muscle memory has come back and you go into autopilot.

Weeks three to five you waver between anger, sadness and being OK. You find films to watch, meet up with friends and family, read, walk, run, see art and photography, and that stuff makes it better. Weeks six to seven you finally have a sizeable chunk to look back on and you realise you only have two more weeks to go and it's like waking up on the first sunny day.

Week eight feels like some arsehole hit the breaks so it takes forever, as you find yourself counting days and then hours.

When we are together we still have that notebook and that shared folder, but we also get to have a physical presence - to act and be seen as a team. We get to eat Ben & Jerry’s in Leicester Square or walk along the Mississippi or get excited about dinosaurs in museums or ride alarmingly shaky roller coasters. Being together is going from a Mini to a sports car. We are not the recording of a favourite song: we are the live version played on stage that electrifies every nerve.

The good thing about having to go over an ocean and some more land and stuff to see each other is that we’ve been able to travel to different cities and stay in lots of hotels. I love hotels. There’s something so luxurious about being able to walk from your bedroom into your bathroom without having to put clothes on, and the TV is right there and you only have one suitcase and someone else is cleaning your sheets.

But while those adventures have been great fun, what I miss the most are everyday things. Cooking pizza together is this big culinary project, as is going to the supermarket, driving for seven hours to Chicago while listening to morbid episodes of Serial, and just hanging around reading or watching Netflix with my feet warming up on his legs.

I can leave a room and come back thirty minutes later and he’ll still be there. I go to sleep and when I wake up I reach over and he’s warm and solid right next to me, not just a voice on a cold plastic phone connected by a dodgy WiFi signal.

Even seeing ourselves together in photos is this weirdly intriguing experience, like going back in time and showing a Roman what he looks like with a camera, because it’s this visual proof that we existed in the world in the same space at the same time. Plus, hey, there’s the Tower of London, that was fun, and damn, my hair actually looked so good that day.

And then suddenly, just as you get used to this solid, 3D life – to the oxygen you were missing – you’re back in an airport and this time it’s the Departures gate. You take one more deep breath – one more hug, one more kiss, one more moment to feel on your skin and hold onto – and then you say goodbye, turn to leave, and you take the plunge again.

Love and sorry and old bananas: 25 things I've learned by 25

Let’s be clear: this list is not the sum total of my knowledge of the world. For starters, I have learned more than one thing a year, and there’s nothing from 16 years of academic education on here. But just for fun, here are some basic truths and not so simple lessons from 25 years as me.

1. Don’t apologise when you don’t need to

As a British woman I got served with a double dose of ‘Please let me apologise profusely for things that aren’t my fault.’ Apologetic words that enable this condition include the obvious ‘sorry,’ plus ‘just’ and ‘only’. Yes, you absolutely need to say sorry when you’ve screwed up, even if you’re terrified that the other person won’t forgive you. But don’t apologise for your existence or for doing your best. Treat these words like morphine: use sparingly so their impact is really felt when it’s needed.

2. Put Vaseline on your heels to stop your shoes rubbing

You’re welcome, poor little ankles. Also, if you’re too lazy to properly remove all your eye makeup before you go to sleep (bonus life lesson: always remove your eye makeup before you go to sleep) you can put just a little bit of Vaseline on your eyelashes and you’ll wake up without that ridiculous black gunk in your eyes.

3. Falling in love is like waking up with superpowers

Suddenly there’s a force within you that makes you want to do things that previously would seem impossible and mad (like scale tall buildings and shoot webs out your wrists and get married). It’s fun and scary and inspiring so make sure you use it to do something good.

4. Being in love requires effort

It’s answering their texts and being somewhere at the time you say you’ll be there, and calmly talking about how you feel when they’re pissing you off so you can work it out, and not holding a grudge. Which all sounds like a ridiculous amount of unpaid labour to the merrily single. The magic trick love performs is that you’re transformed into someone willing to do all that plus unload the dishwasher and overlook the fact they like Top Gear in exchange for the chance to have them around.

5. You can go against people you like

Peers, parents and friends will have expectations for your life, from what you wear to where you work to how often you go out and get hammered to your reproductive adventures. Understand that deciding to go against them might well cause fallout, but you don’t have to live out the narrative someone else has written for you.

6. There’s a right way to carry takeaway coffee cups

With the hole you drink out of facing away from you. It’s a law of nature that coffee is drawn to clothes, especially if you’re wearing something white, new and/or expensive. Which is why they never serve coffee in takeaway cups at weddings.

  

7. Courage doesn’t mean never being scared

To paraphrase Mufasa. It means being able to admit fear and go crashing on with it anyway. Go on that rollercoaster, get that tattoo, watch that movie that had the world’s toughest critic sleeping with the light on for three months. Take the job with the paycut because it’s your dream, ask out that person you’ve been gazing at longingly for two years, seven months, three days and about an hour and thirty minutes. Not everyone is a firefighter running into a burning building but we all have to be brave in tiny and massive ways.

8. Drink lemonade when you have a sore throat

Let it go flat and chug it straight from the bottle. No one will ever believe it works, but as long as you no longer sound like Darth Vader after he’s had a long night of karaoke and cigarettes, who cares?

9. Never brush curly hair

Ignore the books, movies and adverts that show someone brushing out spiralling ringlets. In reality, you will end up looking like Hermione circa The Philosopher’s Stone. It wasn’t magic that fixed her hair for the Yule Ball: it was realising that you should replace that toothy devil device with detangling fingers, good conditioner and a reliable finishing product.

10. Dare to say hi to new people

Yes, chatty strangers can be annoying when you’re tired and you just want to buy oranges without a lengthy discussion about someone’s cat. But sometimes it’s worth plunging into conversation with a total stranger. Sure, they could be dull or racist or creepy but you could also just have a fun one-time chat with an interesting person, or you could even make an awesome friend. Give people a chance and they might surprise you. Yes, that includes Chelsea fans.

11. You don’t have to understand art to enjoy it

You don’t have to know much or even anything about art, as long as you approach it with an open mind. The more you see, the more you’ll know what you like so you can hunt out relevant exhibitions and get stuck into the bits that really grab you. At the very least you’re getting the chance to see how someone else experiences the world, which is fascinating.

12. Always have a pen

At least one. If you think you already have one, pack another one. Just like London taxis, they have a tendency to disappear right when you need them.

13. Always have tampons

It may count as a luxury, but it’s one you don’t want to be caught without.

14. Be kind in love

You can’t love everyone who loves you, and not everyone you want will want you. But be gracious. Treat people’s hearts like fluffy little guinea pigs that need to be handled delicately, even when you know they can’t really belong to you. And not like footballs designed to be kicked off down the field and slammed into the mud without a second thought.

15. Sex is not like it is in the movies

The camera doesn’t cut slowly away to the window when you’ve removed enough clothes to upset the censors. Seductive music doesn’t start automatically playing in the background. And post-sex hair definitely doesn’t look so rakishly attractive in real life. Instead, it’s a lot of fumbling, sweating, grunting and unexpected noises. It’s less dignified, a lot messier and much more fun.

16. Women don’t have to wait for someone else to make a move

Disney and Jane Austen and movies set in high schools have got a lot of people thinking that in heterosexual relationships, the man is the one who initiates any romantic possibilities. He asks her out, he picks her up, he pays. Not having the patience for this nonsense doesn’t make you needy or bossy or unfeminine (which aren’t always bad things btw). You wouldn’t go to a restaurant and wait until someone brings you the food you want: the only way to make sure you get the dish that’s caught your eye is to go up, politely place your order and see if it’s available.

17. Frozen banana tastes like ice cream

Get an old banana. Mush it up. Freeze it. Take it out. Eat it with peanut butter and/or chocolate chips. Feel smug.

18. Embarrassing moments are just future funny stories

You can speed the process up by trying to see the comical side at the time. That said, it’s also perfectly acceptable to save the ones with no witnesses for yourself.

19. You don’t have to drink alcohol

Benefits include not knowing what a hangover is, always being able to remember where you put your phone and having more money for books, clothes and obscure kitchen gadgets. Unfortunately, you do have to realise that some people will have a problem with this, even though you couldn’t care less what they do with their bodies. This might mean that you miss out on some awesome friendships but that’s their fault, not yours. Those who matter don’t mind, those who mind should really reassess why it is they take issue with your life decisions.

20. If you microwave a marshmallow it grows huge

I learned this from Dawn in Buffy. It’s about the only scene from the show you can safely re-enact in your own kitchen.

21. Make sure you know how to be awesome on your own

You are the only person who is always with you so you should probably learn how to get along with that little voice in your head. That includes in your own home and in the world spreading out beyond that square of window. Enjoy the voice's creativity and sense of humour. Find out what it likes (rom coms, photography exhibitions and indie pop rock). Teach it to map read, tell it off when it’s being mean, read it books and teach it new things just for fun.

22. An oven thermometer will change your baking life

If your cakes usually end up as a flat mess that looks more like a pancake that’s been run over by a lorry than the photo in the book, you need one of these. Hang it inside your oven somewhere you can read the dial and you’ll know that whatever else you’ve screwed up, at least the temperature is spot on.

23. Carry an umbrella

London weather is created by a control panel in the sky that’s operated by a drunk guy randomly fiddling with dials, pressing buttons and spilling coffee (see life lesson 6, dude). To combat this madness, get a mini umbrella and put it in your bag, next to your keys, pens and tampons. Much better than a soggy copy of the Metro or a Tesco bag.

24. No one knows what they're doing all the time

A constant stream of holiday photos, statuses about amazing parties and excited job/relationship updates has convinced us all at some point that the world is at a big carnival we’re not invited to. However, it’s also true that the more ‘grown ups’ you meet, the more you realise that no one has every aspect of their life or personality totally sorted out. Some people are better at hiding the not-so-shiny bits than others (money really helps with this) but ultimately we’re all wondering if we’ve made the best life decisions and what’s coming up next and if we can handle it.

25. Always dance

Don't condemn yourself to the sidelines. Shake it while you've got it and regret nothing. Dignity is less important than feeling like Beyoncé on the dancefloor for a night. 

Five things I learned from travelling alone

Amsterdam... somewhere

Some people can’t even imagine drinking a coffee on their own, while others will eagerly send themselves to the other side of the world, phone off and backpack in hand. Going it alone isn’t for everyone, but there are definite benefits to taking the plunge and travelling solo. Determined to give my passport some use but without the patience to begin a lengthy dialogue about where to go, I said goodbye to London and Guten Tag to Berlin, hallo to Amsterdam and salut to Paris on my own. My language skills didn't take off much beyond this, but I did learn some other things along the way.  

Appreciate the brilliance of being alone

As David Foster Wallace rather gloomily pointed out, we are all of us marooned in our own skulls - we are all ultimately alone. We can either drive ourselves mad constantly scanning the horizon for the glimpse of another ship, or we can roll up our sleeves, hunt out a reliable water source, and get on with it Swiss Family Robinson-style. When you travel solo, chances are you will be on your own for at least some time, whether that’s on the flight over, for a long train journey, or even just lunch. This is actually quite fun. No, seriously.

Having no one else to worry about means you can do whatever you want without worrying about seeming rude or inattentive. Want to stare out the window aimlessly for four hours? Or listen to a podcast without seeming antisocial? Or just catch some sleep? No one can distract you or complain. Or post photos of you mid-nap on social media.

I think many struggle more with this around meals, but eating alone can also be something of a relief. Not only can you use a fork instead of chopsticks without judgement, but there’s no one to argue with over where you eat, no small talk, and all the time in the world to people-watch, eavesdrop on conversations (like eating off the floor, we’ve all done it, so don’t get high and mighty) or just to read. I’m not saying we should all seal ourselves up inside one-person-only cells for the rest of our lives, but learning how to spend a few hours or days on your own is good brain training.

You will meet awesome people

Getting out of your comfort zone gives you the chance to meet people you would otherwise never have crossed paths with. Whether it’s for a dinner, a day, a weekend or the rest of your life, taking the opportunity to get to know someone else's point of view can only teach you more about what's outside your own little bubble. Not everyone you meet will be your new best friend, and you're lucky if you find someone like that, but it's still worth talking to them.

However, the caveat is that to find these fantastic fellow wanderers, you also have to put the effort in. Luckily, it’s easier to be brave when you’re in a place where no one knows you, plus being deprived of conversation will make you more keen to take a chance when the opportunity arises. Strike up a chat with the person on the plane, say hi to that person in the park who caught your eye. You never know, it could be the start of an interesting discussion or a beautiful friendship (or just really fun). 

More practically, you also have to put yourself in social situations, which probably means hostels. Do your research before you go, and make sure other solo travellers have ticked yours off as a good place to meet like-minded people, rather than couples and groups of friends who are more likely to stick in their own little circle. No one is saying that sharing a room with 10 strangers and all their various smells, snores and nocturnal activities is glamorous. However, in between cursing the guy two bunks over for his persistent tractor imitation, and silently begging the couple in the next bed to just hold off for one night (both true stories), this is the place to meet people. Finding a hostel with a bar and/or communal area is another good tactic. Even if you don’t drink, this is a great place to meet people open to making new friends. This works even better if some big sporting event is on. Who cares if no one there has anyone competing in the curling: pick a side, place a bet, and get ready to cheer.

You can go wherever you want

Forget being dragged shopping for four hours, or to the Chair Museum, or to slowly roast on a beach in the sun all day. You’re the boss and you set your own itinerary. You can be selfish and not have to waste your time doing things others in a group might love but which bore you to tears. Want to go to another museum? Go ahead. Feel like a long wander through the city? Sure. This can actually be a bit scary, as it means that if you don’t take responsibility for filling your days, you won’t actually do anything. Get some guide books and a map before you go, and highlight the stuff you want to see, then work out a sensible way to get round it. You can do this on the plane, if you focus (not that anyone would leave it that late). Even if you don’t see it all, this will make sure you get to the crucial bits. You can also book tours and activities once you’re there, to make sure you drag yourself out of bed and at least do something vaguely holiday-like.

Arriving is the worst

No matter how excited and prepared you are, it’s normal to experience a feeling of being completely overwhelmed by everything around you when you first arrive, as well as by everyone else seemingly knowing where they’re going. Knowing that this ‘small fish in a big sea’ feeling is coming should make it easier to handle. It might be tempting to hide in a corner and rock on your knees while wondering when the next flight home is or testing out the 'No place like home' heel clicks, but you’ll feel much better if you force yourself to get out and do something in your new environment. It will go away, so don’t worry about it: just focus on your day.

You will get lost and it will be fine

I spent much of my time alone in varying degrees of being lost. These range from, ‘I know I just have to go left down this street somewhere,’ to ‘I’m sure I’ve walked past this desolate Soviet-era building/quaint bakery/sex shop at least twice already,’ to ‘It’s getting dark, I’m not even on this map, and I’m pretty sure those are vultures.’ 

As I've recorded on this blog several times before, I can’t read maps, so if you also suffer from this, a bonus tip is to learn how to read maps before you go. Also, always read the full name of the street, as it turns out that evil city planners really like to give very close roads similar names. And map-illiterate people like to totally ignore them when they do. If you plan nothing else, make sure you know where your hostel is from the station or airport. In my experience, locals know when you’re lost, and they will try and help you – at least they will if you’re a 23-year-old woman.

There’s also something to be said for smartphones. Everyone is glued to these anyway, and since I didn’t use one, every time I pulled out the last remaining paper map of Amsterdam in existence (which was, on average, every two minutes and eighteen seconds), everyone around me could see I was a gullible tourist with no idea where I was. Everyone except for the couple who asked me for directions, despite the loud and proud ‘I <3 Amsterdam’ t-shirt. (Oddly I actually knew where I was at that moment; is this what you people feel like all the time?) 

Luckily, getting lost can actually lead you to places you wouldn’t otherwise have found, like the art studio in Paris run by a charming and talented guy from Portland delightfully named Buzz, and the colourful neighbourhood in Berlin dotted with the types of gypsy caravans Enid Blyton wrote about, as well as bits of the Wall. That said, the relief at getting back home and knowing where you’re going without having to pull out a map every two seconds makes you want to run down the well-known street, tearing that frustrating bit of paper into confetti and screaming 'I'M HOME AND I KNOW WHERE I AM!' Until you take a wrong turn.