Strongly Worded

Fate and Faith

Yesterday I heard an extremely intriguing story about how a friend met her boyfriend of five years. She was commuting from Cambridge to her home in the suburbs. One day, she stayed late at the library, took an evening train, and ended up chatting with her seatmate. As her stop approached, he told her: I know we'll see each other again. She scoffed. But a few days later, she took the same train and found him in the same seat. They exchanged information, fell in love, and stayed together for years.

I am obsessed with these kinds of stories. A family friend met her now-husband in an elevator (what if she had taken the stairs?). Another couple met at a party neither planned on attending--they're blissfully married now (what if they had given into their anti-social instincts?). Another friend had a summer job at a frame store. One day he waited on a cute girl; now they're fully married with two adorable kids, and they are going to Hilton Head this weekend. (What if she had never bought that poster? Or put it up with thumbtacks?)

I'm haunted by the fact that my husband is out there, somewhere, living his life, probably having sex with some girl who's utterly wrong for him (which I guess is a good thing, since he needs to get that out of his system, and hopefully she's helping him hone his relationship skills--although I'm hoping that process is thorough yet speedy) . Maybe we've crossed paths a million times on the subway. Maybe he's standing in line, as I write this, at the coffee shop I just left. Maybe he's working at one of the jobs I applied for but didn't get. Maybe he went to Tufts as an undergrad, and we would have met in English 200 had I gotten enough financial aid to go there.

This element of chance is as intriguing as it is vexing. There's the school of thought that says, if you're outgoing and lovely and charming enough, you'll find your soulmate. This school of thought requires going to parties, looking cute all the time, and actively dating. While this philosophy fills me with dread and fatigue, it is comforting in that it implies some sense of control over my fate. The school of "you'll meet him when you least expect it" is not comforting, although it lets me off the hook to some extent. It means I just have to live my life and have faith that he'll show up in some elevator/train/frame store. And faith is not one of my core competencies.

I guess this doesn't matter right now, because I am still healing. I still miss my former boyfriend. I still have his revolting Coke Zero in my fridge, and (OK, I'll admit it), I still haven't tossed his toothbrush. (I can't face my own brush looking all lonely by itself.) And I'm appalled by the idea that he had dinner with someone named Joyce last week. (I know, know, know that Joyce is not a Prospect, but why is he having dinner with any woman? I'm not having dinner with any man!)

But this is good, right? I'm healing while my husband breaks up with his chick, moves nearby, and prepares to woo me.

Posted by Dori at 10:47 AM