Long-distance relationships change way people behave

A: In the old days, before the Internet, most long-distance relationships were first proximate relationships. High school sweetheart. College love interest. Workplace romance. Bible study squeeze buddy. Nightclub cutie.

Then somebody would relocate. Permanently or temporarily. New job. Off to college. Graduate school. Military tour.

Ouch. Time to talk. Do we want to try a long-distance relationship? Letters. Phone calls. Monthly visits, or every other weekend if we’re lucky. Will we be exclusive, or will we date other people? Is this open-ended, or for an agreed-upon period of time?

With the advent of the Net, people are more often beginning relationships across significant distances, and deciding later when, how and if they want to close those distances.

Does distance really matter to the human heart? You bet it does! Should it? Doesn’t matter if it should, because it does.

Long-distance relationships both artificially delay and artificially compress the natural rhythms of courtship. The delay, of course, is that no matter how often you text message, IM, voice mail, snail mail or e-mail, you can’t really have a complete sense of someone’s energy and lifestyle until you are in their space. The compression is that, when you do grab that weekend together, you focus on one another in a way that is unnatural. You won’t experience the “real life” ebbs and flows of integrating a great love affair with the daily duties of work, housecleaning, etc.

You fantasize about quitting your job and moving to your sweetie’s town, or (gulp) into your sweetie’s home. But you hesitate. The risk is huge. It would require a leap of faith and a big commitment on both parts. Yet, how could we make a well-reasoned commitment if we’ve never experienced one another in the regular rhythms of life? A proposal of marriage would be nuts — blind and premature. Yet the mere “cool, let’s see if this works out” is amorphous. Shifting sand.

Prolonged exposure to distance changes relationships and the people within them. Every time. No exceptions. Despite any profound commitment or sincere intention to the contrary. I didn’t say long-distance relationships don’t work or can’t work. Just that distance changes things. We can’t be naïve about that.

Relationship is a habit. With proximity, we get into the habit of partnership, accountability, touch, presence, interdependence. With distance, we eventually form the habit of not expecting those things. Or looking for them. We are, of necessity, self-reliant. We don’t think of our day in terms of someone else’s ready presence, warm arms and support. Some people shift easily between necessary self-reliance and mutuality. Others begin to resent the mate’s absence. Still others stop thinking in terms of mutuality at all.

When a bride’s Marine husband boards the airplane for a two-year tour in Europe, she misses him terribly. And he misses her. They pine. They write. They call. And, eventually, they begin to reshape the habit of their daily life — leaving home, returning home, meals, bedtime routines, caring for children — without the other.

Which is why, about a month after the Marine and the bride make their tearful and happy reunion, there is often a marital crisis. The habit of self-reliance and independence is interrupted. It’s understandably awkward, at best.

Spouses who agree to commuter marriage find themselves distancing their mates to buffer the pain of the constant goodbyes. Then distancing the mate becomes a habit of self-protection. The next thing you know, it’s just fine with you that your mate is leaving tomorrow. Not a big deal. You no longer particularly notice the mate’s absence. Here your very emotional survival skills work against the nurture of the bond.

And then there’s just plain human loneliness. We are built for relationship. The longing for intimacy and companionship are instinctual. Long-distance relationships increase the chance of unwitting amenabilities and availabilities to other relationships, even as they teach us not to rely on each other. This is a dicey formula for love.

I’m saying that — while it won’t sell a lot of Hallmark cards — it tends over time not to be true that “absence makes the heart grow fonder.” It’s more often “out of sight, out of mind,” despite our every romantic ideal to the contrary.

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling and Wellness Center in Las Vegas. His columns appear on Tuesdays and Sundays. Questions for the Asking Human Matters column or comments can be e-mailed to skalas@reviewjournal.com.