Myopically long distanced

We think we see clearly. We think we know what’s right in front of us. But sometimes, the people closest to us are the hardest to truly see. This is the paradox of being myopically long-distanced, when someone is emotionally far away, even though they’re right beside you.

You’re near in proximity, but galaxies apart in connection.

The illusion of closeness:

They sit next to you at dinner. They share your bed. Their name is on your phone screen every day. But something’s off. You don’t feel known. You don’t feel seen. You don’t feel felt.

You’re close, but disconnected. Like tuning into a radio station just a few frequencies off. The voice is familiar. The message is lost. This is the ache of emotional myopia: the inability to see what matters most… when it’s too close, too assumed, too routine.

When distance isn’t measured in miles:

We often define distance geographically. Long-distance relationships. Long flights. Long waits.

But emotional distance is more insidious. It doesn’t need space, it needs neglect. You grow distant from someone by not listening. By not asking. By assuming. By forgetting that presence without engagement is still absence. You can touch their hand and not feel held.

You can hear their voice and not feel understood. That’s the loneliest kind of nearness, when they’re close enough to hurt you, but too far to reach you.

The tragedy of unnoticed drift:

No one decides to drift apart. It happens in the margins, in missed moments, in half-hearted conversations, in the assumption that love maintains itself.
You stop asking deep questions. They stop offering real answers. And soon, you’re both acting out a closeness that no longer exists. 
And yet, when asked, you’ll say: “We’re fine.” Because technically, you are. You share a roof. A life. A routine.

But the emotional oxygen is thin, and you’re slowly suffocating on silence.

The courage to refocus:

To fix a myopic lens, you need to adjust your focus. To fix a myopic relationship, you need to look again, with intention. See what’s been neglected. Name what’s been lost. Ask what’s been buried under convenience and time. Sometimes the reconnection begins with a simple truth: “I miss feeling close to you.”

Other times, it begins by realizing that no matter how hard you squint, some people have chosen not to be seen, or to see you, and that, too, is a form of distance you can’t always bridge.

Conclusion:

Being near someone doesn’t guarantee intimacy. Touch isn’t always tenderness. Proximity isn’t always presence. So if you’re feeling long-distanced in a relationship that’s supposed to be close, don’t ignore the ache. It’s telling you something vital: Emotional connection doesn’t sustain itself. It must be fed. Nurtured. Chosen.

Because love that only exists in shared space, but not in shared souls, is nothing more than a long-distance illusion with a short reach.

And clarity only comes when you stop pretending nearness is enough.

If this resonated with you, you might love a free short course worksheet, please email me for a list of topics to choose from, thank you.