Living the Distance

Over the past year and a half, my partner (in life, love, child-rearing—the list goes on) and I have carved out a new living arrangement that’s working surprisingly well for us. He spends every other week in New York, where his business is based, while I stay in Miami with our two children and live-in nanny.

While many of my friends’ husbands travel a lot for work, our arrangement stands out for its distinct level of consistency. We’re now at the point where Dave has the entire FLL to NYC flight schedule memorized, and our daughter knows to expect JetBlue’s complimentary Tate’s mini cookies when papa gets home. (Bring back the PopCorners!) He usually leaves early on Monday morning and is back late on Friday evening, after which he’s home for the following week, then off to New York again.

This dynamic was never part of a preconceived plan, but something that happened as a function of our life circumstances. When we first moved from LA to Miami, Dave mostly managed his business from home, which mostly had me ready to jump off the 54th floor of our building on a daily basis. The small 1.5-bedroom apartment we were temporarily living in started to feel suffocating, reminiscent of the good ol’ days of COVID co-working. (Having my wonderful parents next door certainly didn’t help the oxygen levels.) Then, a new opportunity presented itself in New York and Dave took it, which instantly required him to be there a lot more. Before long, the new schedule established itself, bringing along a newfound sense of space and equilibrium.

Before I proceed to make a case for the arrangement, let me caveat it with the fact that, when children are involved, it only works with support—lots and lots of support. If I didn’t have a great nanny helping me five days a week, and the most helpful set of grandparents ten minutes away, none of what you’re about to read would be valid. In fact, I would be a possessed monster, cursing Dave out and poking a voodoo doll of him late into the night.

But, because I’m lucky enough to have my village, this cadence gives me something that’s more precious to a mother than a croc Kelly is to a Sunny Isles housewife. It gives me the luxury of space. In the weeks that Dave is away, I cook less (as in, not at all), write more, bond with my parents and kids, abide by a puritanical sleep schedule, and enjoy the simple pleasure of a clean bathroom mirror. (Why are men, water, and toothpaste such a lethal combo?!) As somebody who lived alone for a decade and always thrived on discipline, there’s nothing that rebuilds me internally quite like a strict yet serene regimen, which allows me to ground myself, center my focus, and stop operating in a constant state of reactivity.

Dave, too, gets his own version of space and freedom, which is highly valuable for a man whose ideal morning includes complete silence until 9 a.m. On the weeks that he’s in New York, he gets to live like a caveman—staying up late, working in sprints, and enjoying work drinks that wrap around the time I enter my REM sleep period. I imagine some people reading this might raise an eyebrow and think me a fool for sending my partner off into the lairs of New York debauchery while I stay home with the children. I might kick myself one day for saying this, but I trust Dave. We’ve always had a strong and committed foundation (à la TimmyKylie lol), and he has never given me a reason to doubt him. I usually know exactly where he is, can count on him to quickly text me back, and have him on Find My Friends if all else fails. (See, I’m not a complete naïve idiot!) I also happen to believe that a person who wants to look elsewhere will always find a way, and there’s very little you can do to alter the outcome.

Perhaps, my confidence also comes from the fact that I feel our connection is still intact—in a way, even more than before. One of the most palpable benefits of our new lifestyle is that we get a chance to miss each other. A high-voltage person myself, I happened to choose a man whose energy is all-consuming, in both the best and most exhausting ways. (Case in point, we were recently home together for the parental stress test that is winter break, and I can assure you that we barely survived.) To add fuel to the fire, Dave also happens to work in bars and restaurants, a field that eschews traditional nine-to-five hours and makes hospitality industry partners a subgroup of unsung heroes.

The distance gives me space from that frenetic energy, which then allows me to embrace it with a more open mind when he returns. By Friday evening, I’m usually fully recharged, genuinely excited to see him, and ready to step back into my role of listener, colleague, and personal chef with more generosity. He, in turn, comes back more patient, present, and eager to give. While there can be an occasional combative adjustment period, for the most part the distance has made us closer and the time we share more intentional. There’s less assumption, less background noise, less taking each other for granted.

Of course, there are plenty of downsides as well. The kids and I miss him. The house feels empty and flat without him, as though its rhythm has been thrown off. I hate sleeping alone, although my five-year-old reliably fills the space. Most importantly, Dave misses out on being with his children every day, which is a huge sacrifice that I genuinely hope pays off one day. That being said, when he’s here, he’s more involved than most fathers I know, which keeps them firmly in the camp of his obsessed fans.

A friend recently asked me how long I think this dynamic will last. I had no idea how to answer. For as long as we don’t live in New York, and for as long as Dave doesn’t have a brick-and-mortar place in Florida, I assume he’ll continue spending a large portion of his time there. But that may all change fairly quickly, in which case we’ll readjust again, the way we always have.

Family life and partnerships, I’m realizing, aren’t a fixed structure, but a living practice that shifts, stretches, and rebalances itself every few years. When I was little, my family spent nearly a decade split across an ocean, with my brother and his children in the U.S. while my parents and I were based in Russia. It was far from ideal, but we saw each other regularly in different parts of the world, and those trips shaped some of my happiest childhood memories.

Maybe there are times in life when physical closeness is the thing that holds you together, and others when a bit of distance gives you the room to build and reach your shared goals. As long as there’s connection, honest communication, and a unified vision, the structure matters less than the intention behind it. Right now, this is the season we’re in—complicated, unconventional, but also grounding in ways I didn’t expect. It’s not a blueprint I’d advise to anyone else, and it’s certainly not forever. But for now, it works, and that alone feels like enough.