I have a very tiny world map on my computer. It’s about 3000 pixels of perspective, a trick I learned from the Muppets.
No one is too far away if you make the world small enough.
He lives just one thumb away. One fat thumb.
I measure the difference on the harder days, pressing my print carefully onto the screen between us. On the days where the actual distance seems insurmountable. On the days I need him here, and the days he needs me there. On the days where planes go down, and storms roll in, and news stations seem to exist solely to keep the count of horrible things that happened.
It soothes my nerves, and reminds me that we’re not so far away.
But on good days– on most of the days– I don’t need the little map. I know the world is small because one of the best friends I’ve ever had lives across a vast ocean, and I met him by chance on a stroll through the internet, fifteen years ago.
I know the distance is tiny because I can connect to him with a button. I know the ocean is small because he hears me, every time I whisper a word his way.
He calls it a pond, but really, it’s just a puddle. A splash. A droplet, compared to the bigness of us, and we only get bigger, and better, with age.
Happy birthday, Steve. I would have added exclamation marks, but there’s no real reason to shout, not when you’re standing right here beside me, just a silly little fat thumbprint away.
For the rest of you, because I know it’s been a hard couple of days, here’s a little something that might help:
We’re basically next door neighbors.
Can I borrow a cup of sugar?