As I got back into the dating game this spring, I tried to set a mindset that was open and, to be frank, wouldn't set me up for disappointment: It's a number's game, so the more people you sit across the table from, a) the more chances you have of finding who you're looking for, and b) the more chances you have of narrowing down
what you're looking for. Also, c) the more free vodka sodas you score.
Idea B is a slippery path, though. Sure, the more people you date, the stronger your conviction becomes that, oh, I don't know,
an entire month is an unacceptable amount of time between phone calls. That's good. That's called Realizing What You're Worth. See also: Realizing that you'd like someone who has a permanent job, is a good listener, is interested in topics north of your ribcage, can have a somewhat engaging conversation without chugging 8 beers, and doesn't call you Sugar on the second date (or, really, preferably,
ever). (True story, people. I cannot make this stuff up.)
But if you start really narrowing it down (zero relationship baggage, no commitment/trust/
insert-insecurity-here issues, always on time or early, never loses his cool or forgets to say thank you to waitresses, etc, etc, etc), I'm fairly confident you'll start missing out on some really great people.
How did I realize this? By over-thinking it,
of course. Duh. Whose blog do you think this is?
I thought about my family and how often we fail each other by losing our tempers or pushing each others buttons. They let me fail over and over without ever letting it change how much they love, respect and support me. I realized that having flaws and accepting flaws
is what love is. It's essentially
the definition of grace. Working to bring out the best in someone and helping to ease some of their burdens is essentially
the definition of partnership.
I started thinking about the other people in my life that I really love. I started with my best friends because I hope my husband will be my bestest of all my best friends. I realized that I love those girls and guys because they are so beautifully flawed. They have the most endearing idiosyncrasies and mind-boggling tics. They make these gorgeous mistakes that turn into remarkable lessons for others, or, sometimes, turn out to be the best things that ever happened to them. Sometimes those mistakes prevent other, far worse mistakes or put them on a different, more genuine path. Sometimes when they get knocked on their asses and call for advice, they are their most divine selves. It seems the farther they fall, the better advice
they have for
me, and the more clarity they have for how to move forward and thrive in this crazy world.
I hope my future husband is flawed like that. I hope that he has made some whopping mistakes and that his life has been an unpredictable road of twists and turns. I hope he messed up something so bad that he's become the cautionary tale for his friends: "Don't do what
I did--but if you do, call me. We'll sort it out!" I hope he has a lot of
almosts that push him to try again later. I hope he's been pushed to the max so that he has some sense of what he's made of...but I hope he's got some surprises left for himself, too.
I hope he's been humbled, criticized, supported, championed, and vilified, because that's what teaches you when to do which to others. I hope that he has gained the wisdom that only heartbreak can teach and has already set to work on narrowing down what he is looking for. (Oh, he's looking for an almond-eyed brunette that manages to oftentimes jump in feet first despite over-analyzing just about everything? He's looking for someone who hasn't made her bed in 15 years, who sees no reason to shut cabinet doors if you're just going to open them again, whose primary mode of communication is bullet points!? God, Future Flawed Hubs is so specific, I love it.)
In all seriousness, it was the
Sugar guy that stopped me in my tracks: "I'm really into challenging people. It's the only place growth is born." Oh, uh, you have a point there...
sir. You can't really challenge someone who's perfect (or thinks they're perfect). Where's the
fun growth in that? I'm down to grow; the Universe knows I need it. (But really, the cupboard thing must be genetic or something...)
Allow me to get
one giant step even further ahead of myself and pontificate about children for a moment, too. I hope my children are so beautifully flawed that you can see the cracks from a mile away. I hope that they falter and teach other people lessons. I hope that they doubt themselves at times so that they learn how to trust themselves. I hope they let people down so they can fully taste the monumental impact of forgiveness.
I'm going to try my damnedest not to hold their hands too tightly or wipe away their tears too quickly. I hope they are too empathetic and too generous, and I hope that at times this is the source of their pain; it means that they overshot in the best possible way. I hope that they get the chance to enrage and be enraged by someone so intensely that they fall in stubborn love and can't walk away even though they're not sure why. (Everyone deserves this excruciatingly beautiful experience, don't you think?) I hope their hearts break just enough to realize that there is suffering in this world that is far, far worse than anything they'll ever know. I hope that they fail miserably at something they thought they'd ace so they can understand that it isn't talent that makes you, it's sweat and preparation.
What I am trying to say is that I'm realizing lately that our flaws are what make us loveable because our flaws are what make us real, and what makes us real makes us human, and our humanness is where connection stems from.
I hope that it doesn't take me too much longer to find my person, but in the mean time, cheers--to your flaws and mine. I mean,
hey, free vodka sodas!
