There’s always a ‘story of us.’ How it all began, how the universe did its thing, how the pages wrote themselves. And I want to tell you that story — I want to romanticize and glamorize every little detail, spill it out into the universe (or to all seven of you readers), but it doesn’t belong here. It belongs at the tip of my tongue, in quiet conversations and in the terribly cliché corners of my terribly cliché heart. I am prone to oversharing and sharing even more after that, but I’ve long avoided writing intimately about men on my blog for obvious reasons (unless of course I’m using their existence as fodder, which is clearly my main purpose on this earth). It’s just that some – most – of these precious details, these private moments, these eloquent truths are best kept between few ears. And besides, it’s kind of a long story.

Like, 2,907 miles long.

But because I have to write and because I have trouble keeping my own secrets and because brevity was never my forte, I will tell you this…

I can no longer look at the clock without subtracting three hours from it. I can no longer glance at a calendar without calculating the exact number of days left. I cannot hear a crappy, sappy love song without thinking how the lyrics relate to us, are us, will be us. And I cannot process how the girl writing this never expected to have feelings about someone who lives across the entire country. To be much less evasive (and to reference the giant give-away at the top of this post), I am currently in an exceptionally long-distance relationship. He lives in San Francisco and I’m in New York – completely opposite ends! But luckily, where it matters most…we are in the same place.

I could write 500,000 words about being single in New York (100k for every year), and one day, I will. I’ve written my fair share on this blog already — it is home to some of my finest moments as an unattached twentysomething making her way through the city’s dating/mating Choose Your Own Adventure game. I have thrived on these encounters and these stories, not only because they’ve made my days and nights so unquestionably fascinating, but because they’ve taught me a lot about myself and the people who inhabit this extraordinary city. But four or five months ago, I found myself face-to-face with an adventure that didn’t make any sense, one I had forgotten was even possible, one that ultimately and inevitably began to write itself…

(To be clear, this is not some sort of farewell post to the last 5 years; I am writing this simply as a girl who is just…working with new material.)

New material that’s quite handsome, I might add. But more importantly than that, he’s brought out a side of me that I’ve been keeping at bay for some time now — this softer, kinder side that you typically don’t get from me immediately (or ever). I don’t know what it is exactly, but it doesn’t hurt that he’s constantly encouraging me to write and create and prioritize my talents or that we appreciate (and hate) many of the same things or that we can talk forever about anything and nothing or that he knows my 27-word Starbucks order or that he has inadvertently made me reassess my entire outlook on relationships. He is the type of guy who manages to say the sweetest, most sincere, unexpected things (to which I typically reply, “you are not a real person”) and best of all, he always means them. It kills me that he means them. He is thoughtful, motivated, smart, clever, patient and he adores New York like I do (it is, in fact, where we met). He has become a part of my day like eating, sleeping, working and checking Tumblr are a part of my day, which is both scary and wonderful. But mostly the latter.

A few weeks ago, after a funny and cliché determine-the-relationship convo on the way to the airport, we declared ourselves “official” (of course in 2011, this means we now have a mature, grown-up commitment because Facebook has confirmed it), and since then, the response from people in (and out) of my life has steadily been along the lines of: “This guy must be something else if he’s managed to ‘transform’ the Eternally Single Girl.” And yes, that’s true – he is something else. But it’s not unknown that my unreasonably high standards for men and my complete lack of faith in them has, over time, fostered a harsh, adverse attitude that’s been difficult to let go of. In my experience, people who wear their hearts on their sleeves, ones who hopelessly open themselves to the mere possibility of love, get hurt the fastest and the hardest. I’ve spent so much time dodging that notion because, quite simply, I’ve watched hundreds of relationships – good relationships, solid relationships – fall apart (my own included). And it’s always made me question the risk. But despite this notorious cynicism (or what I also like to call “being realistic”), I’ve vowed to my girlfriends for years (especially post-break-up with an asshat) that incredible men did exist, and that occasionally those men came along and changed your life forever. Even if not forever. 

Frankly, nobody wants to be in a long distance relationship – especially one that doesn’t share a time zone or an ocean or concurrent TV programs. The three hour difference has proved the hardest … he is getting home from work when I’m headed to bed, he is starting his day when I’m out to lunch, he is still in meetings when I’m sending sloppy texts to him after happy hour… but we’ve managed to find time for each other in appropriate measures absolutely every day (thanks, technology!). Truthfully, the distance has helped me ease back into the humble world of feelings and considerate gestures, allowed us to build a solid foundation for trust in our relationship and made me realize that possibly what I wanted and what I needed were one in the same.

A few things are inevitable in an LDR: the countdowns (currently: less than a day!), the intense pangs of longing, the creative alternatives to constant face-to-face interaction, the detailed planning of future visits, the sensitive investment in someone you don’t get to touch or see everyday – nothing about this is normal. But I kind of like it that way – I was never one to do things normally. And even though the waiting and the incessant “I miss yous” and the devoted day-to-day interaction (that never feels like enough) is emotionally taxing, there is always, always, always something to look forward to.

To be honest, I’ve ultimately avoided writing about the sweet, serious side of relationships so publicly in fear that at any given moment, the post may have to be deleted. That I’ll have to take back everything I’ve said, everything I’ve felt, and pretend I was never silly enough to write such nonsense about something that did not last. But I’m letting my guard down with this one — there are no regrets when there is something to be learned or a story to be told. My heart is on my sleeve. My words are on the Internet. And the new material is worth every single mile.

Oh, look. I’ve gone and said too much.