I hardly think that I’ve always been the perfect girlfriend, despite my beer-guzzling, space-giving and always supportive ways. I haven’t been an easy one, that’s for sure. When most relationships reach three months, couples take a small, ambiguous step forward – usually in the same direction. I took a giant leap, and moved to Ottawa – alone. Without thinking, I threw myself into a long distance relationship.
Do these thorny and intricate relationships actually work? Probably not. Not for most. And when I stepped into one originally, I hardly thought for a second that we would eventually reach our fifth anniversary. But we have, and I wouldn’t change even a second of it.
I don’t mean to be fatalistic when I say that most long distance relationships won’t work. They’re tough, and I think they take two very hard working people to make them successful. Somehow though, they’re the best of both worlds. They are independence, when needed. Togetherness, when needed. And they never tire, because there just isn’t time for that.
So cheers to five brilliant years, my dear. Five years and I’m sure hundreds of hours of phone conversations. Five years of Pepperwood evenings, with Paul Langille, some Oatmeal Stout, and a Caesar or two for me. Five years of museum tours and concerts and dinners that neither of us could afford. Five years of sloppy homemade meals, where I never cooked and usually passed out, even before we had time to clean up your kitchen.
Do these thorny and intricate relationships actually work? Probably not. Not for most. And when I stepped into one originally, I hardly thought for a second that we would eventually reach our fifth anniversary. But we have, and I wouldn’t change even a second of it.
I don’t mean to be fatalistic when I say that most long distance relationships won’t work. They’re tough, and I think they take two very hard working people to make them successful. Somehow though, they’re the best of both worlds. They are independence, when needed. Togetherness, when needed. And they never tire, because there just isn’t time for that.
So cheers to five brilliant years, my dear. Five years and I’m sure hundreds of hours of phone conversations. Five years of Pepperwood evenings, with Paul Langille, some Oatmeal Stout, and a Caesar or two for me. Five years of museum tours and concerts and dinners that neither of us could afford. Five years of sloppy homemade meals, where I never cooked and usually passed out, even before we had time to clean up your kitchen.
Cheers to five years of Ottawa nights and Hamilton nights and Burlington nights and Toronto nights and most recently, to Stratford nights.
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