Surviving Sans Skype

Disclaimer: Nathan read this post prior to publication and approved its contents.

When people find out that I’m in a long distance relationship, the reaction is very predictable.  First, shock.  Second, poorly masked pity.  Third, a compliment: “Wow that’s impressive.” Finally, a misinformed question: “How have you guys made it?”  Correction: we haven’t made it yet.  We’ve still got at least fifteen, twelve, nine, seven months to go!

In the wandering international traveling/volunteer society, long distance relationships are common enough, although the survival rate is under 10% to be sure.  I can only imagine the kind of reactions Nathan encounters.  In America, how often do you hear of someone in a long-term transcontinental relationship without a reliable Skype connection?  Let me tell you, it’s rather rare.

In this post, I’ll attempt to address the inevitability asked question, with a modification: “How have we made it this far?”  I’m not sure the answers will be one anyone expects.  Everyone thinks this post is going to be rambling confession of love.  To all the romantics, I apologize.  To all the pessimists, don’t get me wrong- Nathan and I have an amazing relationship.  But how has that made us different from everyone else?

Many of you may not know: Nathan and I met six months before my departure date at a concert that my brother took me to.  My introduction was summed up in just a few sentences: “I’m John-Paul’s little sister.  My name’s Chelsea.  I just graduated.  I moved to Newport two weeks ago.  And oh yeah, I’m leaving in six months for Africa.”  After that night, we didn’t talk about me leaving for a long time.  In the beginning, Nathan and I thrived on denial.  Although it may be a negative coping mechanism in certain situations, our relationship grew deeper by consciously refusing to discuss or acknowledge my upcoming Peace Corps stint.  If we allowed an expiration date to hang over our heads, we would have never made a real connection. 

As much as I hate confrontation, I couldn’t actually leave until we had that conversation.  We both dreaded it and talked about it to everyone we knew, except to each other of course.  On my end of things, my biggest problem was the commitment because it isn’t just two years (and three months).  If you’re staying together throughout that torturous time apart, you better be together after it too!  It’s a minimum of a three-year commitment, but it should be even more than that!  Big surprise, to those of you that don’t know me very well: I’m a little commitment-phobic.  I’m sure Nathan’s laughing at the qualifying phrase “a little.”  Needless to say, I wouldn’t call him my boyfriend until well after he had met my whole family.

Less than two weeks before I left for Uganda, we finally had that conversation.  It wasn’t some hysterical conversation.  No one cried.  It was just a rational conversation about our future- ironically, this relationship conversation ended, without a doubt, in separation.  Neither of us wanted a long distance relationship.  Nathan’s not a phone person.  I’m not a commitment person.  But, neither of us wanted to stop talking to each other.  In the end, that was the decisive factor.   We still want to talk to each other, we didn’t want to be with anyone else, so why not?  If it didn’t work out, it didn’t work out.  Of course, an “I love you” was thrown around in there, but our attitude was very relaxed.  An outsider would think we were talking about a three-month internship in Ohio, not a two-year post in Africa.

I did have two rather weird, and probably selfish, stipulations: 1. You can’t expect me to move back to wherever you are.  I have to go where I have an opportunity to pursue whatever career I want.  2. You can’t expect me to call you before or more than I call my mom.  Nathan must have known me too well, even by that point, because all he said was “I know.”  I was granted my first phone call during our first week of training.  We could call anyone for two minutes, just to let them know we were safe and sound.  I called my mom.

In this beginning, in the Peace Corps beginning, our relationship survived on expectations, or lack thereof.  We hadn’t let ourselves spend months wondering what would happen.  We had less than two weeks to come to terms with our newly established long distance endeavor, and I spent most of that time worrying about what I was packing- the origin of Nathan’s hate for my packing methods.  When I started Peace Corps, we didn’t expect anything of each other, which is exactly what we needed.  It’s very difficult to be disappointed if no promises were made.

On the foundation of no expectations, we built our expectations.  Eventually, we fell into a routine.  Sundays and Wednesdays are my Nathan days.  He calls me at 9 pm, not earlier or later.  We both look forward to those appointments.  If we talked everyday, there would be nothing to say.  But leading up to our phone calls, we both try to stack up things we want to tell each other: funny stories, disappointments, gossip, accomplishments, challenges, family (almost any word fits here- problems, issues, disasters, successes, activities- you get the point).  Of course that doesn’t mean we can only talk on those days.  If something comes up or someone’s had a bad day, we’ll talk.  But we still keep our Sundays and Wednesdays.

Other expectations?  I’ve learned that Nathan doesn’t respond to my emails, even if it would save him money on texting.  Apparently if he responds, he worries he wouldn’t have much to say on the upcoming Sunday/Wednesday.  Nathan never says good-bye; I always have to be the one who ends the call.  We don’t hang up angry- we usually just waste minutes not talking until someone gives in.  Nathan indulges me by telling me all the delicious food he eats, and I get to be jealous.  Nathan then willingly listens to me babble on and on about all the food I miss.  For the most part, we don’t exchange gifts.  Well, he tried to send a birthday present, and it never showed up.  That was the end of that.  And, we’re completely honest.  Sometimes, it seems like it would be easier if we weren’t, but that’s just us.

When I have blank moments, traveling in a taxi, stuck in a meeting, running, I have a horrible tendency to measure my time, in four ways.  How long have I been in Uganda?  18 months and three weeks.  How long have I been at site? Sixteen months and one week.  How much longer will I be in Uganda? No more than eight months.  Probably about seven. (You can do it!)  How much longer until I see Nathan again?  Four months.  Depending on the level of my boredom, I’ll let the cycle repeat again and again.  The first two questions help me feel accomplished.  The last two are the ones that keep me going.

In no way, shape or form will I ever preach long distance relationships to anyone.  Especially this kind of long distance- no Skype, expensive phone calls, limited vacation days, visiting once per year, a 10-hour time difference.  It hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park.  We have our fair share of bad days, or even weeks.  But, our relationship hasn’t just survived.  It’s grown a lot stronger.  Imagine, our only choice is to communicate- that’s all we have.  Unlike normal couples, we don’t have the luxury of spending time together without talking- silently watching movies, jamming out in the car, strolling on the beach, hanging out at a friend’s BBQ.  We have to talk, twice per week.  Well, we were never that normal of a couple anyway.

Last Friday, Nathan and I celebrated our two-year anniversary.  Needless to say, Nathan overcame my commitment-phobia.  Or helped me overcome it.  So, yes, we’ve made it this far.  Eight months maximum, probably seven more months.