This is completely random and off topic (though I’m always random and this blog has no set topic), but I came to what I deem a significant and belated realization last night when I couldn’t sleep.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve heard significant someones referred to as “my other half.” Romantic, right? You meet some stranger and they fill in the bits you might be missing, they “complete” you, like those little half-heart “Best Friends Forever” necklaces. Together, you’re one.
Only wait. That’s incredibly fucked up (pardon my French, another word just wouldn’t have had the same effect). I don’t want my other half. I don’t want a half at all. I want a whole. A whole other person who complements my whole person.
One and one don’t equal one, baby. Except in the romantic world, apparently (and the Catholic world, where one and one and one equal one? The Holy Trinity, ruining math for children since the birth of Christ). Argh, that’s so robbing people of the true potential their romantic lives could reach.
I was googling embarrassing things last night like “I’m dating a workaholic” (temporarily true, but the workaholic-ness pretty much ends today! YAY!) and reading on forums all kinds of weird shit. Yay, Internet. One girl wrote that she couldn’t tell if he was a workaholic or if she was just too needy. There were how-tos, too.
How to Date a Workaholic. Seriously? Weird. But not terrible advice, actually. One of the first points listed was that she ought to get a life. Because the only thing worse than dating someone who’s super busy is not being busy while they’re running around rocking the world. I haven’t strictly followed that rule, but I’m in Paris. I get a “Get out of jail free” card.
But gosh… my last relationship? I loved him. He loved me. That’s all fine and dandy and whatever. But he didn’t have a whole lot in the way of extracurriculars. And I did, but I kind of let them fall by the wayside. Friends, jobs, sanity—all second tier priorities.
And I sound like a terrible person, but I know I was his first priority. It was two halves of persons trying to make a whole person. But that’s absolutely not okay.
And now? Well first off, I’m 3,000 miles away, so there’s a level of independence that’s pretty much mandatory. And I won’t pretend like talking once a month is ideal, but there’s no pining and whining (okay, a little whining from me). There’s no relationships falling by the wayside. In fact, my relationships with my friends are even better, even the friends that might not like this significant someone all that much. And I’m extremely close with some of his friends, too.
I’m my own person. He’s his own person/(temporary robot). Together, we’re two very different people. Not one. But we nonetheless complement each other, challenge each other, support each other. He’s not my other half. He’s my other whole.
And that means twice the goodness.
**Don’t get my sick humor? Watch, “Fatal Attraction.”