I’ve always thought of distance as such a negative word. It’s like a curse word. I came to this conclusion through no ideals of my own. The ideals were most likely inherited. They were definitely taught. I come from a family were distance isn’t ideal. People like to be close and wanted me to like it too. I guess I didn’t have much of a choice. If I tried to steal away, be distant, even in physical closeness, my space was invaded. Time and time again, I suffered the consequences of self-imposed distance. Until I became an adult. And got married. And I had children. I learned that what I had learned wasn’t right. It wasn’t totally wrong, but it was definitely a little off. Distance taught me how to be confident in who I am as an individual instead of relying on the affirming words of those closest to me all the time. Space gave me perspective. It taught me to treat the ones I love like human beings, and to allow myself to be disappointed out in the open and stop putting distance between myself and how I really feel. A trip to the grocery store puts a healthy amount of distance between myself and my family. Its refreshing, in that I’m able to return home and believe that my marriage and commitment to my family will go the distance. My commitment to myself and my well-being was watered in the moments that I began to widen the proximity between my past and my present self. I don’t put unnecessary distance between myself and my children. I want them to know love fully and be able to fully give it to others. I don’t want them to be distant in adversity and trouble, or think that space or building walls is the best response to every less than likeable moment they will face. If they keep on living they will face many of these moments. I’m distant enough write now to respond to this prompt without interruption from little faces and manly features. I can only hope I’m never too far away.