I keep noticing how comfortable I’ve become with distance.
People want to spend time with me and my first thought is how much energy it’s going to take from me. My phone rings and I stare at it longer than I should before answering. Conversations that used to excite me now feel like something I have to mentally prepare for. The more I think about it, the more I realize I’ve stopped craving closeness the way I used to.

I noticed it the most recently when I spent time with someone I’ve grown close to. I was the one who reached out. I was the one who told him to come over. What stood out to me wasn’t that I wanted to see him because I did. What stood out was how detached I felt from the outcome. Before I even sent the message, I had already accepted both possibilities. If he came over, okay. If he didn’t, okay. There wasn’t any urgency behind it. No anxiety. No attachment. I wasn’t waiting around for a response or wondering what he was going to say. I sent the message and moved on with my day.

Even our conversation felt different than it normally would have. I kept finding myself saying things like, “Let me know,” or, “If you fall asleep, you fall asleep.” I wasn’t trying to convince him to come over. I wasn’t trying to sound eager. The truth is, I wasn’t eager. I was fine either way. Looking back, that’s probably the best way to describe where I’ve been emotionally lately. One foot in and one foot out.

When he got there, I noticed the same thing. We sat next to each other on the couch, and I could feel myself keeping a little bit of distance. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Just enough for me to notice. The entire time, I felt like I was observing everything. The way he grabbed my hand when he sat down. The way he kept reaching for me. The way he wanted to stay close to me. The way he kept kissing me. The way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. I noticed all of it.

That’s what felt strange. Usually, when I’m around someone I care about, I’m fully immersed in the moment. This time I felt like I was standing just outside of it. I was in my head. I wasn’t disconnected from him. I was disconnected from my usual response to him. I could see what was happening. I could feel what was happening. I just wasn’t attaching myself to it the way I normally would. Even afterward, I felt myself pulling away from the experience instead of holding onto it.

He wasn’t doing anything wrong. If anything, he was giving me more of the things I used to think I wanted. More affection. More intimacy. More presence. Yet instead of moving closer, I found myself creating distance. There were things he said that stuck with me too. The comments about his life being a mess. The comments about trying to keep a routine. Whether he meant it that way or not, I found myself feeling like a burden instead of a comfort. Instead of leaning in and seeking reassurance, I did the opposite. I detached even more.

The uncomfortable truth is that this isn’t just about him. I’ve noticed it everywhere. I’ve noticed how relieved I feel when plans get canceled. I’ve noticed how much I enjoy being alone. I’ve noticed how quickly I become overwhelmed when people start requiring too much emotional energy from me. I’ve noticed how protective I’ve become of my peace.

For the longest time, I spent so much energy trying to understand emotional distance in other people. I questioned it. I analyzed it. I took it personally. I tried to understand how someone could care about another person while still keeping part of themselves out of reach. Now I understand it more than I ever wanted to.

Maybe that’s why I think about Daniel sometimes when these realizations hit me. Not because I suddenly understand every choice he made. Not because I think we’re the same. But because I finally understand how easy it is to retreat into your own world. How easy it is to convince yourself that distance is safer. How easy it is to enjoy someone’s presence while still keeping a part of yourself protected from them.

A year ago, I would’ve questioned someone for keeping people at a distance. I would’ve tried to understand it. I would’ve analyzed it. I probably would’ve taken it personally.

Today, I understand it.

I understand wanting connection while still needing space.

I understand enjoying someone’s company while still wanting to retreat into your own world afterward.

I understand how easy it is to convince yourself that distance is safer than vulnerability.

I spent so much time trying to understand that behavior in other people, only to wake up one day and recognize pieces of it in myself.

A year ago, I would’ve questioned it all…..
Today, I understand it more than ever…..
Maybe a little too well.