The distance nobody talks about.

In my previous article, I wrote about Michael Singer's teaching on keeping an open heart, particularly when the people we love live far away. Many of you responded, and what came through clearly was this: we understand the concept. What we want to know is how.

How do we actually stay open when our hearts ache?

When we miss someone, sadness naturally arises. That's not something to fix, it's a reflection of love. In many ways, the ache is evidence of the richness of the relationship. It's a reminder that our lives have been touched by people who matter deeply. Rather than seeing it as something to get rid of, we can recognise it as love making itself known.

An open heart doesn't mean we don't feel sadness. It means we don't build walls around it. It means we allow love and longing to coexist, and in doing so, the feeling softens rather than hardens into suffering.

It's also worth remembering that not all distance is measured in miles.

Sometimes people live on opposite sides of the world and feel profoundly connected. Other times, family members live a few kilometres apart, or even under the same roof, and feel emotionally distant. Physical proximity doesn't guarantee closeness. Relationships can quietly separate through unresolved conflict, unspoken expectations, or simply the busyness of everyday life.

Michael Singer's teaching holds in both cases. The invitation isn't to close our hearts because someone has hurt us, disappointed us, or sees the world differently. It's to keep love, compassion, and understanding alive within ourselves, not necessarily to agree, not to tolerate what isn't healthy, but to remain open to the possibility of connection. Because whether the distance is geographical or emotional, a closed heart only deepens the separation. An open heart creates the conditions for healing, forgiveness, and reconnection.

There is also a quiet gift that comes with loving someone across a distance, and I don't think we name it often enough.

When you don't see someone every day, time together becomes precious in a way that proximity can quietly erode. The visits are anticipated. The conversations are unhurried. You show up more fully because you know the window is short. There's a particular kind of presence that distance teaches: an awareness of what matters, undiluted by the ordinary.

Gratitude lives here too. Not for the distance itself, but for the relationship and for what it continues to give you: the memories, the shared stories, the love that doesn't require physical presence to stay alive. Many people in the world long for that kind of connection and don't have it. If you're missing someone, it means you do.

So the next time you feel that ache of missing someone you love, pause before the resistance sets in. Place your hand on your heart, take a slow breath, and let yourself feel it without fighting it.

You can miss them and still remain open. You can feel sadness without closing. You can love well across any distance, and when you're finally together again, you'll know exactly how to be present for it.