A Girl...

Rain or Shine

When I was at university, among my friends was one of those "sophomorons," known for reveling in his collegiateness by making sure everyone knew how much he was into obscure philosophy and atheism and becoming a serious film student and a stand-out male women's studies major, etc., etc., you know the type. One thing I remember him regularly soapboxing about over midnight pancakes at the Village Inn was that getting to heaven was not a worthy goal because heaven by definition is perfection, and perfection by definition is static. Perfection is one of those concepts, like uniqueness or deadness, that takes no qualifiers; something cannot be "very unique" or "more unique" or "a little bit dead"--you either are or you aren't, there's no gradation. So, perfection is what it is, as it is, forever and ever without change. That's according to the strictest literal definition as insisted upon by my college friend Jared anyway.

While I can't say I wholly agree with him--in the end, the argument becomes little more than hashing semantics, like most debates beloved by nineteen-year-old honors students--I think there's something to be said for the idea that, when compared to unchanging "perfection," there's great hidden value in mutability, in flexibility, even if it feels less stable, less sure, less obvious, less meant-to-be.

It's well known that I DO NOT like change. Even so, I realize it's a necessary evil, and when given the option of change or perish, I'll choose the former every single time. It's like what Simon says to people who complain about birthdays (including me): "If you stop having birthdays, that means you're dead, so stop whining and enjoy your life for crying out loud." Wise man, he.

Still, there are those of us who go through life expecting perfection in some things. I graduated college with a 4.0; I haven't played frisbee since I learned I completely sucked at it; when I make mistakes, my kneejerk reaction is to either start over or abandon ship rather than press ahead with mediocrity. Some of it is OCD, some of it is ego, most of it is unnecessary.

I think I'm not alone in harboring fairytale fantasies about certain things in my life--for instance, marrying the love of my life and birthing several cheerful, accomplished children with teeth as straight and white as the picket fence surrounding the property on which rests the house I blueprinted in my dreams (it has a dishwasher and central heating!). Reality doesn't always mirror wishful thinking, but that doesn't stop us from wishing, does it? Sometimes wishing leads to disappointment, true, but sometimes it also helps us navigate toward success. It's a crap shoot. You win some, you lose some. The kids may need braces and the house might be a duplex with no yard.

In theory, I would love to have married my (theoretical) college sweetheart--the one I crammed for finals with, lived in a tiny apartment with, studied abroad with, was engaged to. Although I'm certainly glad that we (I and my actual college sweetheart) didn't go through with a wedding, when we broke up, I still couldn't help thinking that my previously spotless track record was forever marred because, from that point on, I'd be the girl who had already been proposed to, already accepted, already shared with someone certain experiences that would feel foolish sharing with someone else. Add on that when Simon and I got together, I had to decide to what extent and I could accept and get over the fact that he had already had a wedding and already bought his first house with his college sweetheart; there would never be the same excitement around those events if they happened for us, and I had to be okay with that. Further, I knew there would be apprehension about me among his family and friends and, more significantly, that Simon himself would be apprehensive about our future based on his own past experience. There were many times when I told myself it was too hard, too complicated, and I would be better to just cut my losses with this one, walk away, and find something less messy.

What it came down to, though, was that I'd rather have Simon's imperfection than someone else's resemblance to perfection. Since Simon and I couldn't be together free of obstacles, we needed extra dedication to make it work despite the obstacles. We talked extensively about the things we were giving up in being together, and decided we were both sure enough in ourselves and each other to go forward with it. Surprise, surprise, things have not been perfect. Damn near it, if I say so myself, but that's only my perspective.

I think most people would prefer an uncomplicated, easy, obvious relationship to one fraught with complications, necessary sacrifices, and compromise on issues we're socialized not to compromise on. When baggage from the past arises, the self-preservation instinct kicks in with a little voice saying, "Run! There's an easier way! If it's not perfect, it's not worth it!" But is that the "gut" talking or something else? People say that when it comes to relationships, you "just know," but how often have people "just known" and been wrong? I have.

The quest for perfection is futile, to an extent, and hearkening back to my friend Jared circa 1997, the danger in a "perfect" relationship is in its rigidity. When something is perfect in its time and circumstance and between two people who are perfect for each other at that particular time in their lives, they are especially vulnerable to damage when things change. What happens when time passes, circumstances shift, people grow up, life throws the proverbial curve ball?

Enduring faith in the perfection of a relationship is a lovely concept, but for me, I'd rather have active dedication to success. Commitment and resolve are the safety nets when a relationship undergoes change or falls on hard times; the willingness to overcome challenges translates into wiggle room for adaptation. Most wedding vows don't say "I will love you until I don't anymore" but "I love you and promise to work at loving you through whatever life brings--sickness, poverty, yadda yadda." The true value of a relationship is not in how good it looks on paper and how gracefully it floats on a sea of good fortune under sunny skies and calm winds but how well it weathers the storms that inevitably arise. A good couple is not one that is free of problems but one that deals well with problems should the occur.

(Of course, you can't walk into a disaster of a relationship with a disaster of a person hoping that sheer will can turn it around. And you shouldn't press on in something that's irreparable just for the sake of sticking it out. Sometimes people are better off getting divorced or breaking up, and it's a shame that some couples stay together and endure decades of misery either because they don't "believe" in divorce or because they're doing it "for the kids." The trick is to evaluate what problems are fixable, to what extent the involved parties are willing to work on improvement, and whether the good far outweighs the bad.

And that's ultimately what it comes down to: nobody's perfect. When looking for a mate, we don't have the option to reject everyone who has even the tiniest flaw or incompatibility--unless, that is, we want to search in vain indefinitely. We have to consider the bigger picture and decide what works, what's worth working on, and what we need to just get over and forgive. It's then--the point at which we decide someone is worth our time and effort despite her crankiness or his lack of self-control or her habit of chewing with her mouth open--that we can be surer that something is going to endure change and challenge. When the going gets tough, the tough will get tougher instead of running in the opposite direction in search of greener pastures. In a rainstorm, we will pull out our umbrellas instead of high-tailing it on separate planes to sunny San Tropez.