Guest columnists and contributors are generously sharing their talents and insights while Wendy is taking some time to care for my new baby. Today’s letter is answered by prolific Dear Wendy commenter and social media consultant, Sarah Huffman.
My year-long relationship recently went long distance. I had gotten into several master’s programs — a few decent ones near him and an amazing one far away — and because of future career potential and pressure from everyone (including him) I chose the more prestigious, far-away program. The problem is that I am completely miserable. I am so in love with my boyfriend and I miss him so much, I don’t know what to do with myself. My school is a lot of work, which adds to the stress level. My fellow classmates go out and have fun – I’d rather get more work done so that I can have a few days to visit the boyfriend. Keep reading »
I was finishing college when I met my husband, Jason*, a carefree, polite Australian with dreamy blue eyes and shaggy brown hair who was on an extended working holiday. The attraction to his laissez faire personality and quirky accent was arguably a naive American girl’s knee-jerk reaction to a breakup with a controlling and insecure Brit. Yet, it is undeniable that our romance was of Hollywood screenwriting caliber. Set in the picturesque town of St. Andrews, Scotland — ironically at the same time and place where Prince William courted Duchess Catherine — I allowed this delicious Aussie, four years my senior, to sweep me off my feet. We strolled hand-in-hand through ruins on the beaches that lined the North Sea, snuck kisses in-between pints at our favourite pubs on Sunday afternoons, and celebrated my graduation from St. Andrews University in the company of my entire family, who embraced him immediately. I knew he was a keeper when he broke into the Royal and Ancient Golf Club where he worked to show me the grandiose dining room, which had banned women patrons centuries ago.
Nonetheless, reality always finds a way to spoil the fairytale. Soon after graduation, I returned to my parents’ house in Connecticut and Jason returned to his native Australia. While most flings abroad are retired, Jason and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we might be soul mates. We agreed to take a stab at our fledging union and if it didn’t work, we would walk away with dignity and respect knowing that we tried our best. Thus began a journey that far outweighed the rarity of our early beginnings as Jason and B.B. Truly, what was most unforeseen was not the juggling of the typical long-distance relationship, but where this brand of relationship took us and the questions we inevitably had to answer. Keep reading »
If you are the hopeless romantic type, this story might appeal to you. Alternately, if you are the jaded, anti-love breakup schadenfreude type, this story might appeal to you, too. This is about the last time I fell over-the-top in love, and the really terrible way it ended. Keep reading »
If you were porking someone the weeks leading up until Freshman Orientation and using the L-word, chances are you are “doing the long-distance thing” at college. And chances are a sizable percentage of your brain is elsewhere, when it should be focused on making new friends, pitching a column to the school newspaper, and discovering the least disgusting dining hall. I am here to tell you that it’s Band-aid time: that is to say, rip it off real quick. Do it. Dump your high school boyfriend.
Gather ’round, college freshmen, for a grizzled tale of love and loss from one who has been around the block. Keep reading »
It didn’t start out this way, but I’m in a long-distance relationship. Having your boyfriend live 1,300 miles away isn’t ideal, but as far as problems in relationships go, things could be much worse: He could be in Australia or he could be into furry sex or I could have caught him cheating on me with various tattooed women after I won an Academy Award and adopted a baby.
So, this isn’t some sappy, romantic article on ways to “Survive Your Long-Distance Relationship.” Here’s the real problem: a third party has entered my relationship, causing fights, miscommunication and anxiety. She’s sleek, sexy and smooth. Her name is … the iPhone 3G. Keep reading »