Flights and Different Time Zones

This morning, Rob and I sat down together by a window in the Roanoke Airport's little cafe with a cup of black coffee and a plate of greasy hash browns as we waited for his flight to Minnesota.

"What if we got something that was just mixed with a pit bull?" Rob asked, in regard to the breed restrictions of most apartment complexes. The discussion of our future dog is just one of the hypothetical conversations we have. I don't know if it's a coping mechanism or what--because as much as we'd love to plan out the rest of our lives, the truth is that we're really just taking it two weeks at a time now. I have a flight booked for mid-February to visit him in Minnesota, and then in early March he'll be coming to Virginia for our anniversary. And then we'll plan another month.

Rob hasn't even landed in Minneapolis yet, and already I get so many supportive and uplifting comments from you guys, telling me that my positive attitude for this whole thing is inspiring; it's what's going to get me through. I appreciate all of that so much, but I'm not really sure if "we'll figure it out as we go" is just something I say or if it's really enough for me so far. I look at families with a parent in the military who gets deployed, and friends with fiances in different countries, and I still feel like I have a pretty good deal in all of this.

But as lucky as I feel, I still fell apart this morning as he packed up his bags and put on his heavy winter coat. I still cried over our shared plate of hash browns at the airport, and I still felt a little lost as I walked to my car after hugging and kissing him goodbye at the security checkpoint. Only taking it a few weeks at a time can be really simple and effective, and it can also be really overwhelming.

So here I am, on my own on a Sunday morning, feeling a bit overwhelmed, but determined to make the best of it.