While I like solitude, I have issues with silence. I like to have the TV on when I work. I play books on tape when I cook or clean or do dishes. I can do without, but there's an awful lot that goes on in my head and I prefer something else in the background.

In my marriage, silence meant a number of things. Early on, when things were good, silence was companionable — the quiet that came with being comfortable with each other. Later, silence meant we were running out of things to talk about. Eventually, silence meant that there was nothing left to say.

Jake was gone a lot, traveling, and he was gone for long, long periods of time. Silence during these absences came to mean a great deal. At first, we'd talk while he was away. Even if just a quick hello, or goodnight, we tried to connect, somehow, each day.

When we got to the point where days would go by without contact, that meant something. It meant we didn't want to talk. It meant it was better apart. It meant that, without proximity, we were rethinking.

The thing about having been married, you get into a lot of habits. And when that relationship is over, it's difficult not to make assumptions about a new relationship based on learned patterns. Thinking a few days of silence is a sign of trouble is a hard habit to break.

When your relationship is long distance, you don't have the daily check in of real life contact. And while I like the idea of being in a relationship that doesn't need daily assurance, that's secure with its reality, it's difficult not to second-guess when there's a several day stretch.

This is a recent revelation. One of those moments that makes me realize how very far I still have to go before I feel like I'm capable of having a relationship free of neuroses. At the same time, knowing what's behind that second-guessing makes quite a difference.

This time, this relationship, silence gets to mean something different.