The Decade of Distance

I moved to Central Virginia in August of 2015 for my freshman year of college. We took two cars—my 2002 Honda Civic named Florence and my dad’s super-cool Dodge Challenger, both packed to the brim with dorm furnishings, clothing, and school supplies. My level of preparedness? Superb. The visibility out the back windows? Abysmal. 

We arrived on campus bright and early, and enthusiastic upperclassmen in red T-shirts greeted us. Within ten minutes, both cars were stripped clean, and my belongings had been carried up to the third floor and stacked neatly next to my bed. An assemblage of strangers—my random roommate and her family—were already in the room, installing a mini fridge and cleaning out desk drawers with Lysol wipes. 

It took less than an hour to unpack and put away all of the supplies I’d curated over the summer. Then, there was nothing left to do but say goodbye. My parents climbed into the Challenger and roared away, back to South Carolina. 

That first day was formative. I’d met my roommate at orientation and emailed with her over the summer, but I hadn’t spent any time with her. She had lived in the area her entire life and knew quite a few people already, so she introduced me to some of her friends who were already on campus. Later in the day, we went to a pep rally at the football stadium. There, I met a moppy-haired guy wearing Merrell hiking boots in the sweltering August heat. I married him four years later—he still has the boots. 

I didn’t plan to stay in Central Virginia after I graduated. I didn’t plan to go home to Upstate, South Carolina, either, even though I loved it. I was proud to be from Greenville—it was an up-and-coming Southern city that has become one of the trendiest places to live on the East Coast.

Falls Park on the Reedy in downtown Greenville, South Carolina

The first few years of college, I savored my time in Greenville. Trips home were mini reunions, and I’d get coffee or a meal with my high school friends, visit my old church, and spend time downtown. But as the years went on, I found myself less and less inclined to reconnect with people I used to know. I didn’t miss walking through Falls Park or doing homework at Coffee Underground—I was always eager to get back to Virginia.

After I married and moved to the Old Dominion State full time, trips south were solely about spending time with my family and a small handful of friends who persisted through the college years. I spent most of my time at my parents’ house or in their neighborhood, rarely venturing out to the more exciting parts of town. I barely strayed five minutes from their house during my last visit. 

The busyness in Greenville used to excite me—it seemed like there was lots of opportunity, always something to do. Now, it annoys me. There are so many cars on the road, and big builder neighborhoods are going up at the speed of light. Every square inch of space has been developed into a neighborhood or a strip mall or a self-storage facility. Breathing room is nonexistent.

Some of these things are what led my parents to consider moving to Central Virginia. The difference between their neighborhood and mine is night and day. There is a mere wingspan’s distance between the houses on their street, while my home is set back from the road and has a nice buffer on either side. Across the street? A mountain footed with rolling green hills, home to a small herd of cows. 

Pastoral views aside, they wanted to be near me, which I understand. What is a place without the people we love? People I love kept me in Virginia and made it home. 

I’ve been here for over a third of my life, but it’s going to feel like a new place starting now. This week, my parents officially moved to Virginia. They are about fifteen minutes down the road—closer than they have been in a decade. I’m heading over there soon to help them unpack and settle in.

I don’t know what this new season of life will look like. It’s going to be strange not taking regular trips to Greenville. To spend holidays in Virginia (maybe we’ll actually be able to make it to the Christmas Eve service at our church this year). To have Sunday morning coffee with Mom face-to-face instead of on FaceTime. 

I’m excited and apprehensive at the same time. Distance is a natural boundary that we’ll no longer have, and living so close to the other half of our family will change our dynamic considerably. But today, I’m leaning into the excitement and happy to be closing a chapter I’m now calling “The Decade of Distance.”