Compatibility

I’ve been thinking about relationships lately. I mean intimate relationships, not the relationship with my mother, or my friends, or the postman (which is NOT intimate, no matter what lies he spreads) or even the one I have with my child.

I’m talking about those relationships that show you the best – and worst – of who you are. The relationship with your beloved. Call them your partner, spouse, ball and chain, significant other, life mate, or your love monkey. Whatever you call them, the person with whom you wake up every morning and have no plans of ever being away from.

In my world, I call that person my soul mate. I know this term is a bit over-the-top and romantically idealistic, but it’s a term that I do use when I think about my relationship with SRH. To be clear, I do not mean soul mate in the way of “kismet souls who are yearning for each other and are only complete when they are finally, inevitably in a sacred union”. I tend to be a little more pragmatic than that.

No, when I talk about soul mates, I tend to think of folks who have shown each other their very souls – the good, bad, and ugly – and have accepted that other soul and decided to love it in all it’s complexity – both the obvious and the hidden aspects. I think that SRH and I have that with each other.

I routinely admit to him my most base, unattractive attitudes and thoughts (i.e. I do NOT think that all babies are cute. Sometimes I think that they are so ugly that I shudder inside and feel a little bad for their parents), and he tends to just take it stride. SRH also attended to me at my physically weakest – incontinent and unable to walk after my labor with Zane – and never batted an eye. Perhaps, he gets the willies on the inside, but he never outwardly tells me what a freak I am.

In turn, I do not hold it against him that I have never been able to touch the bottom of his belly button – it’s scary down there! – or the fact that he has the social consciousness of a flea. (Which isn’t actually true anymore, but it was an accurate description when I met him at 20 years old).

Anyway, we love and accept each other’s souls – physically, psychologically, emotionally, and spiritually. Blah, blah, blah. But what we do not agree on is the way of talking about our relationship.

For example, SRH would never in a million years call me his soul mate. He does not believe that we are destined to be together or that any force of the universe brought us together. In his eyes, we’re two compatible people who work very hard to make our relationship work.

While the latter is, indeed, true, I still use the term soul mate. I don’t know that I think that Destiny brought us together, but I don’t want to piss her off by denying the possibility. I agree that hard work and commitment keep us together, but I think it’s pretty fortuitous that we found each other in the first place.

So imagine my surprise a few weeks ago, when SRH and I had the following conversation:

SRH: Well, I mean, we were meant to be together.

(There’s a pause here as I close my mouth which is gaping open and formulate my next, very careful response. I don’t want to scare him off here.)

ME: Huh? You think we’re meant to be together?

(Graceful, Zany Mama. SRH looks a little startled but then quickly regains his equilibrium).

SRH: Well, yeah. I mean, as much as I believe any of that happy horseshit.

Ah, love.