Little LEGOs

Imagine, for a moment, your long-term partner turned to you and said, “Hey, so I just got this incredible job opportunity. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted and worked for in my career. I really want to take it, but it would require us to move half-way across the country. Is there any world in which we could make that happen?”

You’d probably discuss it, right? You’d look into your options — maybe take a trip out together to see how it would feel to live there. You might even consider a long-distance relationship, if there were some kind of end date to the arrangement. But ultimately, as their partner, the choice to move out together would probably stay on the table for quite some time. Then, only once you’d exhausted all your options, would you decide that maybe the relationship needed to come to an end.

Tell me, though: what would this conversation look like if it were your best friend, instead of your partner?

Would you even ask?

Would you consider “breaking up” if you couldn’t stay in close proximity?

As a society, we get really conflicting messages about relationships. For years, we were told that our partner was supposed to be our everything: our other half, our reason for living. Then, the paradigm shifted away from codependence, and we were told that friendships were just as important — if not more so — than partnerships. And though I’m sure this looks different among different cultures and subcultures, I believe my demographic is still very much living in a world where long-term friendship are equally critical to a balanced friendship-landscape.

So why is it that I would never look to my best friend and ask them to move across the country with me? Why have I never looked to my closest friends and said, “I want us to spend our lives together,” with the same intention and gravity I’ve said to my fiancé? We have talked about buying land together when we retire…about building houses next to each other, taking turns hosting dinner parties, forming a coven, etc. But really, what are the chances of that actually happening?

Lower than I’d like, if I’m being honest.

The world has become much more accessible than it used to be. Rather than living in fixed communities, tethered to the earth, humans have become like little LEGOs, able to be placed and replaced wherever they’re needed. I’ve benefited from this kind of life: I’ve lived so many places, seen so many things, made so many friends. It’s been a beautiful life. I’m not afraid of a world where I keep living that life. But I can’t help but feel like something has been lost in the process.

I mourn it, even though I’ve never had it.

I’m in my thirties, and I wonder: when does it make sense to start planning for this? Tom and I have discussed retirement plans at-length. We’re already working towards that future. When should I turn to my friends and say, “I want us to grow old together, to be the aunties and uncles to each other’s children and pets, and to sit at dinner tables reminiscing about our youth — let’s chat about how we can make that happen”?

…assuming they feel the same way, of course.

Maybe this week, I’ll be brave and ask them.

…maybe.

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