How friendship can last, almost 4000 miles away and a year apart 

Friendship can be defined by a lot of things here as a 20-something growing up on the border of Lower Merion and Philadelphia—Wawa car rides by nightfall, the sound of laughter bouncing off of dorm room walls, or the taste of Campion food in midwinter. But if you’ve ever had a friend move away, you realize you’re forced to redefine friendship. It becomes a series of half-written letters, deep iMessage interactions, and Facetime discussions intermittently interrupted by poor Wi-Fi connection. And sometimes—as you’re trying to connect your laptop to Skype for the third time—you think, “are we even connecting at all?”

My best friend Jessica Cavallaro, ’18, is currently studying abroad this fall in Copenhagen, Denmark, nearly 4,000 miles away from Philadelphia, the place that brought us first together. She recently made the decision to also enroll for the spring semester there and forgo another semester on Hawk Hill. Before she made it final, she texted in a group-message, with our close friend Casey Carlson, ’18, to ask my advice on whether or not I thought she should choose to stay. To me, the choice was clear: The exposure to diversity gained from a new atmosphere coupled with the educational opportunities afforded to her were too good to pass up. Nearly a week later, everything was final. Jess wouldn’t be around for any springtime concerts at the start of 2017.

You would have thought the news shocked Casey and I, but somehow we had managed to adapt our lifestyles and schedules to this new absence in our life. The changing point was the end of August: Jess and I were unable to make plans. I landed back in the States from my summer abroadwith only four days to spare before returning to school. Having not seen my family in three months, I was unable to  see Jess one last time before her flight. Additionally, for me, Jess’ departure came at a time that I just begun maintaining friendships I’d made in France this summer. It was official: This past September, my relationships took an international turn. Half of my social interactions suddenly depended on whether or not there was Wi-Fi available. During early adolescence, I defined my inner circle as a group of friends that braided my hair, wove friendship bracelets, and came over to my house on weekends to play. Now, everything seemed to weigh on whether or not people had Snapchatted me the night before.

I’ve drifted apart from friends before. It’s not easy, and in my personal belief, hurts both parties involved. Even if its unintentional, to me, there’s nothing worse than scrolling down through my text inbox and finding that some conversations need to be discarded. In the past, it’s left me feeling empty and sad thinking about what could have been. The question I pose is this: Generally speaking, in relationships, when do you decide to either let someone go or fight for something that was? If relationships become a tug of war, when do you release some of the tension and fall back? The raw truth is that I don’t have the answer to this question. I’ve spent most of my young life motivated by illogical whims and gut intuition on what feels right. But, sometimes, even your heart leads you astray.

I don’t have any doubt in my mind that Jess and I will remain friends for the rest of our lives. But that doesn’t mean that remaining friends is going to be easy. To me, when things get tough, I remember how the universe brought us together in the first place. It was almost fate—our paths crossed repeatedly until our friendship came to life and grew from there. I think of the way Jess smiles and squeals when she hears about acts of kindness. I think of how she looks after waking up in the morning–sleepy and content, but completely disoriented. For someone who doesn’t consider herself to identify with a certain faith, I’ve put a lot of faith in the uncertain future. And, unfortunately for now, circumstances have forced me to. But, really, it’s not unfortunate circumstances at all. It’s life.