Have you ever wondered if there is someone out there utterly perfect for you? Like your other half, wandering around somewhere on the other side of the earth, just waiting to meet you and fall in love at first sight? His name is Russell, and he lives in the rural mountains of Japan, or something. He has just the right amount of scruff on his perfectly-carved jaw bone, and has memorized every line of every Pablo Neruda poem. He paints landscape murals for a living, and in his spare time he teaches children how to play the piano.
Like any one of us could get so far into God’s good graces without giving birth to Jesus herself….
Of course, for some of us, this is the truth we live by. Soulmates are a real thing, and the prospect of finally meeting him or her will drive us to do crazy things, like walking uphill both ways to that RISD toga-themed warehouse party on the other side of town on a Tuesday night in 27˚ weather. Because what if that is my destiny?
Some time ago in my casual internet wanderings, I came across this comic about the mythology behind soulmates. And it’s absurd.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I consider myself the most hopeless of romantics. My credentials are astounding: 70% of my iTunes library has the word “love” in the title. I’ve seen The Back-Up Plan at least seventeen times. I can quote the entirety of The Great Gatsby for anyone willing to listen. Too many a poem about hearts once beating and now broken clutter my “Feelings Journal.” Need I say more? In summation, Juliet ain’t got nothing on me. However, in my experiences thus far in my life (brief as they may be), I have learned a little something about love. And I’m about to make an example of this comic and the ludicrous idea that it tries to justify.
These cute little pictures tell a compelling story of a pair, made of the same stuff: separated, lost, and then found. It’s a charming representation of congenital kinship, where each person is born along with his/her perfect other half and where, if separated, they will always find one another. Sounds nice, right? I could go for that. I want to know who wears the other side of my chartreuse dodecagon (yeah, I’m unique like that), and I wouldn’t mind a happily-ever-after of my own. But even a Disney-esque fantasy like the one in the comic is not without flaws.
For one, the idea of one person being perfect for each human on earth is beyond unfathomable. Why can’t every hottie have an equal chance at winning my heart? I’m not some mindless robot cursed to play this inane game of hide-and-seek for someone I may never find, dammit! I’m a grown woman who can make her own choice as to whom to love, and no myth is gonna tell me where I can shoot my Cupid’s arrow.
And just to ground this heated discussion with some legitimate math (and to make my high school calc teacher semi-proud), if one person could only match with one other in the world, the probability of the two uniting would be so astronomically small that we’d die out as a species faster than you can say “One day my prince will come.”
Secondly, as strong independent women who don’t need no men to satisfy us, it is beyond time to recognize that you are enough. You don’t need someone else to complete you. Despite a very unfortunate haircut and an unseemly obsession with fedoras, Bruno Mars was right about something: you are beautiful just the way you are.
Lastly, the greatest and most difficult realization I have come to is that love is not enough. No matter how perfect Ross and Rachel may have been for each other, they will never agree about whether or not they were on a break. And Jack and Rose may have been the perfect match, but their love just wasn’t strong enough to help them understand the sheer size of that raft. There are so many other factors that come into play to determine if love will win out, and the superficial title of “soulmates” will not make them all come together in perfect harmony. Except for Kim and Kanye. That’s fate right there.
“So Cameron,” you wonder condescendingly, “how can you so audaciously refer to yourself as the ultimate hopeless romantic, and then proceed to crush every little girl’s dream of finding true love and riding blissfully off into the sunset?” Touché. I can see how, based on my above analysis of soulmate-ship, you might thus draw the conclusion that my vast understanding of chick flics and affinity for journaling is merely a front for my underlying Debbie Downer-ness. But, in truth, I recognize in conjunction with my extreme cynicism that it’s incredibly important — crucial even — to remember that true love can be found. I really do believe that soul mates exist, and I am confident that I have already met mine. This comic may contain more than a few critical flaws in its conception, but I love it nonetheless. Because it makes the hopeless part of my title a little more hopeful.
Image via.