Long Distance Relationships

I don’t remember not knowing Lisa.

We hardly see each other now, as we have never lived in the same country.
Still, we have been pleasantly entwined in a long distance relationship for over a decade now. 
Lisa feels more like the best kind of sibling than a friend.

I do remember meeting Lisa, on a minibus in Hat Yai.
I was still very much undecided about whether another month of travel was what I truly wanted. I had resolved to pass through Thailand undisturbed while I contemplated. When a bright eyed woman nodded and caught my eye before getting on the bus, I avoided making eye contact, shrank away and quietly got to my seat.

I had managed to make every day of travel since leaving Malaysia feel like the first day of school. Lisa was the kid with the broad, kind smile you hope sits next to you on the bus on that first morning. As the journey progressed, we cautiously opened up to each other and made plans. We would be temporary roommates.

 My decision to travel alone around the world had come in my late twenties. I worried that if I didn’t travel then, I might never manage to. I found myself in a teaching career I had not anticipated, advancing much faster than I felt ready for. I had broken away from a long term relationship for similar reasons. Travel felt like it might offer a chance to create a body of evidence (for myself) of my ability to stay alive on my own. At the same time I believe my sudden decision to action a lifetime desire to go travelling was about running away from having to cope with a very adult life all on my own. I didn’t want to feel afraid of my aloneness in the everyday anymore and I didn’t want to feel reliant on anyone else ever again. I think I thought I could cure myself of fear and dependence. I had isolated myself to assert my independence on this journey and subsequently felt terribly alone. Travel with my parents in Malaysia had reminded me to lighten up. Lightening up on the bus from Hat Yai meant un-armouring my heart and allowing the possibility and vulnerability of sharing my journey with someone new: I engaged in conversation with that kind woman on the bus.

Lisa and I spent a whole month together travelling. We were a good fit. Both of us keen to see Thailand through our camera lenses, record everything in our journals, go a little off the beaten track and stay away from backpacker hostels and booze cruise type excursions. Our Thailand was a beautiful and delicate country. The Thais kind and generous people. Buddhism was infused into the everyday in such an un-self-conscious way. The ubiquity of tiny shrines to the ancestors and the presence of monks on buses and in 7-11s as well as at temples made it feel appropriate to move about in a respectful contemplative hush. 

Endless, unnourished contemplation can easily slip into negative rumination and navel gazing. Travelling with Lisa was like chicken soup for the brain – and soul in that respect. Our conversations about anything and everything enriched my thinking.

My next stop would be England. Home. I was beginning to turn in my thoughts to what it would be like to return there. With our busy but calm travel routine I (at last) found it easy to approach contemplation with self-discipline rather than self flagellation. Friendships that elevate you soak through the exterior into the inner world. Feeling seen and that feeling like a safe, secure state grants you a sense of space and light. In that illuminated spaciousness I was able to remember myself and relax about the reality of myself as a whole person - to begin to accept the ugliness along with the beauty, the dual state of every human being. I was consistently treated as an equal by someone I felt inspired by. This constancy and ever-open hand of friendship allowed me to recognise that I was Ok company. More than OK. I was inspiring and interesting to be with too. When the time came to leave Thailand and Lisa, I was able to see myself as both a friend and a truly independent woman, though not fear free able to see fear, feel it and lighten up.