space between: modesty, writing and intimacy

Today, I went to lunch with two coworkers, A. and K. Both are beautiful women: one has long, blonde hair. The other has short black curls. We sat on a blanket in the grass, ate our yogurts and sandwiches and talked about our weekends. I mentioned I'd been to a hip hop dance class with two friends, and that my favorite part was watching a lady in a Moslem headscarf break it down. Or, "rock the boat," as my friend Mel said. This particular woman closed her eyes and grinned as she danced. She relished every step … like she had been waiting her whole life to move. Instead of dancing myself, I found myself watching her, so buoyant, yet so burdened in her long-sleeves, long pants and headscarf.

This in turn led to a discussion of Islam and burquas. A. actually studied religion and politics at the University of London. For her graduate thesis project, she had to interview Muslim women. Some of them, she said … not all by any means … actually liked wearing burquas. I began to (hotly) protest, but A. coolly explained. She meant that these women felt they were more free to be themselves with their bodies hidden. When the complications of having a woman's body were removed, they felt they were actually listened to instead of gawked at. And they felt valued and protected … intact … in those caves of cloth.

I don't know what I think about this, I said, splaying my arms wide in the grass. Actually, I do know. Burquas are awful; they put the burden of lust on women. Who would want to walk around swathed in heavy black cloth? I, personally, am glad to be able to walk around in shorts and a t-shirt. Aren't you? I asked A. and K.

Now, reflecting on this conversation later, I think I actually understand that distance - cloth, miles, or time - can be both freeing and intimate. I have experienced this through letter writing. Through receiving carefully-wrought letters, I've gotten to know both men and women really well ... differently than I would have face to face.

Similarly, you can draw closer to the truth of an experience after you've gained distance. Time away from the heat of the moment can help focus our minds. The advantage of hindsight helps us trace the shape of our lives. To understand.

So maybe, oddly enough, I am more with you when you are not with me.

And perhaps, paradoxically, distance helps us to better see each other, and allows us to love or desire the best parts of one another ... not just the obvious ones.