I wanted to write this personal log because I don’t think I’ll ever experience this again (I hope). You know those movies where you meet a lover while trying to survive a zombie apocalypse or armageddon? So cool right? But they never show you what happens to them after. Do they stay together?
Yes, relationships are not easy. Long-distance relationships are even harder. And then there’s the rare weird blend of long-distance relationships during Covid... which I went through. A challenge I would rank right up there with running a marathon with foot blisters while blindfolded. We didn’t choose it, but we didn’t back away from it either. We leaned into it, did the best we could, and carved out our own rhythm during a time when the world shut down. We saw and heard friends who decided to have babies, get separated, get into fresh relationships. We weren’t overly optimistic but we were confident in our conviction. We did the video calls that stretched late into the night, texting regularly to fill the void, and lots of laughter that traveled through a screen just as clearly as if we were sitting across from each other. It wasn’t ideal, but honestly I enjoyed every moment and it felt good enough for now.
Going on dates during the pandemic had its own unique tempo. Our relationship became a collage of ordinary moments. Falling asleep on face-time or calls. Randomly ending each other uber eats meals and gifts. We would go on formal dates where we’d get cleaned up or see her in her designer sweater with hair undone, sharing stories between looking for a new job. There was no gloss, no curated dates, no excuses to escape into distractions. What we had was stripped bare, down to the essentials: conversation, patience, and showing up consistently despite distance. It was intimate in a strange way. There weren’t big gestures but in the comfort of simply being present for each other. It was looking like we were going to survive the worst of the pandemic together.
I’ve replayed it in my mind more times than I’d like to admit because the ending still hurt. Did it have to end? Could we have recovered if I reached out or picked up that one call she made a week after we ended? The truth is, I still don’t fully understand what happened in the moment. We had the foundation. We had the care, the attraction, the respect. But what we both lacked was that next level of patience.Tthe kind of patience that stretches further than I thought was possible. I thought I was patient, and I still hold that ground. Maybe I’ll feel differently reading this in the future. But all I can recant is having more patience. She could have too. But in every relationship, someone has to take the lead. Someone has to say, “Wait. Let’s slow down. Let’s not let this one small thing decide for us.” Knowing her, that person should have been me. Not because I was at fault, but because it’s my role to deliver that message in our relationship. It’s the quiet work that doesn’t get attention but makes all the difference.
As time went by, I blamed myself less. Sometimes endings don’t have villains. Sometimes they’re just the result of two people missing a chance to choose more patience in the right moment. That’s the lesson I’m carrying forward. Patience isn’t passive. It’s not about waiting quietly in frustration. It’s active. It’s a choice to hold the space, to breathe, to give time for misunderstandings to settle instead of reacting to the first wave of tension. I’ve learned that patience isn’t just a virtue; it’s a skill that can save relationships from unraveling over things that don’t deserve to be deal-breakers.
Even with how it ended, I don’t regret the relationship. I shouldn’t.. It was playful, sweet, and filled with all the quirks that make love feel alive, even with the miscommunications, the apologies, the late-night calls, and the “what are you eating now?” check-ins. It didn’t last, but it mattered. It mattered that we made it through one of the strangest, hardest times in modern history and still found a way to create joy together. It mattered that we proved to ourselves that connection is possible, even across distance and uncertainty. And it mattered that I came out of it understanding something deeper about what it takes to make a relationship not just survive, but thrive.
In the end, it wasn’t the pandemic that ended us. It wasn’t attraction or care or respect. It was patience, or rather, the lack of just a little more of it.