Up until a few months ago, I was living high school Sarah’s dream: attending college in a big city while living with my best friends.
We did almost everything together—whether it was homework in each other’s rooms at 2 AM, making trips to Rio Mart to stock up on Celsius and snacks, or Target runs. And when I wasn’t with them, I always knew that at the end of the day, I’d come home to them: my built-in best friends and roommates. It was probably the best nine months I had in a living situation.
However, I knew it was coming to an end when I decided not to resign at the same apartment as my roommates. I loved my roommates, but I did not love wampus rent prices, and it seemed the numbers didn’t show me any generosity either. That summer, while my best friends stayed in the same complex, I moved just five minutes away from them, closer to the outskirts of campus.
I reassured myself that even though I was moving out, nothing would change. We all joked that I’d reassume my position as their roommate by being at their apartment almost twenty-four-seven. And for the first few days after moving in, it stayed just like that. I’d wake up, do whatever I needed to do, and then I’d make my merry way to their apartment. It was as if nothing had changed.
But the impact of the change finally started to sink in once school began. Our different schedules made seeing each other nearly impossible (the fact that none of us were very good texters didn’t help either). I went from seeing my friends every single day to going my very first week without seeing them, and it had to have been one of the most miserable weeks of my year. Part of me reasoned that I was being overdramatic, but deep down, I knew no part of me could see past my new fears. What if it stayed like this the entire semester—weeks passing by and barely seeing my friends? What if I missed out on all the spontaneous side quests just because I wasn’t there in the other room when someone would come knocking to see if I wanted to go grab Taco Bell? What if that feeling of loneliness I was suddenly so aware of never truly passed?
That week, I came to realize that as much as I may seem shy and introverted, I loved being surrounded by my friends. And when I lost that built-in system from having lived with basically more than half my friend group, I realized I hated being alone. I thrived on daily interactions, however small, and it was the thought of seeing my friends every single day that kept me motivated after a terrible day.
It took me this one experience to realize that the built-in friend and roommate system had not only left me with some of the best memories of my college years but also a most unwelcome case of dependability. And I had absolutely no idea how to deal with all the feelings that came with it.
So how does one move on from dependability?
Well, I’m no professional at that.
And while I still haven’t figured out how I exactly came to terms with my new situation, I have learned a few things along the way.
I realized first and foremost that, as much as it was a bit of a bitter pill to swallow, the foundation of my friendships was partially built on the luxury of proximity. It makes sense when you think about it. The more you see a person or the more proximal you are in distance, the closer you’re bound to be emotionally. It’s like your family.
And now that the proximity was gone, I didn’t have the luxury of seeing my friends every single day anymore. I won’t lie, it did leave me a little nervous and made me question whether or not living together was what made our friendships. But that’s where I proved myself wrong next.
I had to learn that friendships come in all forms and dynamics. Just because I went from seeing my friends every day to significantly less didn’t automatically mean we’d drift apart. As much as my mind made this fear loom over my head, I had to force myself to change my thought process. Otherwise, I knew I’d be stuck in that constant loop of insecurity and anxiousness about the future. The change in proximity just meant that when we’d meet up, that yap session would be thrice as long, perhaps. But that’s what makes seeing them now even better than before.
And lastly, I learned that just because I found the value and validity of our friendship in seeing my friends every day doesn’t mean others feel the same. As I mentioned before, I deeply valued those daily interactions. My friends, on the other hand, thought that a couple of meaningful conversations over the course of a week were just as much of a testimony to one’s friendship as my daily interactions were.
People are different. Your friends, as much as you love them, are different from you, and that sometimes means you prioritize different things as well. And that’s OK! Because there’s always a middle ground to be found in the midst of all this, especially by communicating your feelings to your friends. If they’re true friends, they’ll validate your feelings and find a way to make it work.
To any of my other dependent baddies going through a situation similar to mine, I hope this gives you a new perspective. It takes time to adjust, but at the end of it all, it won’t feel so scary anymore.
And I promise you, it takes a lot more than a little bit of distance to come between a lifelong friendship (that’s for sure).