Compatibility?

I’m puttering about the house, and the TV is on. I’m not watching, but I listen in every now and then (it’s perpetually tuned to the History Channel…I keep hoping to acquire knowledge through subconscious osmosis). In a moment of weakness, I pause to listen to a commercial for eHarmony, an internet matchmaking service. The key, say the eHarmonious folk, is compatibility. The inference is that their sophisticated personality evaluations will lead compatible people into each other’s arms…to experience a bliss like no other.

Well, I just had to ponder that a bit, given that I’m the pondering sort. Is compatibility the key to happiness? Is it, really?

What if I find someone who is, in all essential aspects, identical to me? Would a marriage of two like souls be nirvana? Would it? I’m sure the union would be relatively friction-less and rather peaceful. There would be so fundamentally little to argue about. Yeah, I can see the harmony in that. Here’s the rub, though…I (really!) don’t want myself for a partner. I’ve already got me; I already know what it’s like to live with myself. I don’t want a mirror image. I don't need an echo.

I prefer to march along with someone who marches to a different drummer. Oh, sure, we’d stumble and fall a lot as we strike our differing cadences and tangle our feet. Things certainly wouldn’t run like clockwork. But that’s the thrill of it. To see the world through another’s eyes, to venture where we otherwise might have never dared. To experience life through another. To discover another’s insights, delights, wisdom, heart and soul. I’d rather kneel at the feet of a confounding, vexing, challenging and altogether glorious teacher than sit somnolently in class, alone with just a clone of a classmate.

Well, they do say: “opposites attract.” And they do. And the sparks do go flying. And I, myself, prefer to live in a world filled with sparklers and absurdly wonderful fireworks. Keeps things interesting. So, I ask: “What is the key to happiness?”

I think it’s the willingness to compromise.

I’m not talking of compromising one’s morals and values. I take it as a given that a common moral framework is fundamental and essential in any relationship. Beyond that, though, everything should be up for grabs. Compromise dreams? Yes, you bet...in return for even richer, better ones. Compromise on matters of wealth? Sure. It’s only money. Compromise on places to live, people to see, things to do, furnishings, worldly experiences and wardrobe? Yup. Why not? There’s something new to discover around every corner...and love needs a whole lot of room to blossom and grow.

Of course, compromise, to actually work, must be a forever-shared activity. You've got to give as good as you get.

Sorry, my eHarmony friends, but I think I’ll pass on the compatibility thing. Call me when you find the craziest, most passionate, eccentric, talented, vibrant, explosive, uninhibited, untamed, honest and loving genius imaginable…with a predilection for wearing lingerie. Find me someone filled with as many questions and vague hopes as I am. Tell me she’s the sort who will grab me by the heart and take me on the wildest roller-coaster ride of my life, leaving me overwhelmed, limp and whimpering: “let’s do that again.” Then tell me she’s the sort who's willing to negotiate and offer compromise in deference to loyalty and love. Tell me she’ll do anything for the man she loves, and then tell me she is someone who demands the same, no more...no less, in return (I guess that would make us compatible, in a sense. Damn! I’ve come full circle). Call me then…only then.

I’ll come running.

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LOVE POEM
By John Frederick Nims

My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases,
At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring,
Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen,
And have no cunning with any soft thing

Except all ill-at-ease fidgeting people:
The refugee uncertain at the door
You make at home; deftly you steady
The drunk clambering on his undulant floor.

Unpredictable dear, the taxi drivers’ terror,
Shrinking from far headlights pale as a dime
Yet leaping before red apoplectic streetcars---
Misfit in any space. And never on time.

A wrench in clocks and the solar system. Only
With words and people and love you move at ease.
In traffic of wit expertly manoeuvre
And keep us, all devotion, at your knees.

Forgetting your coffee spreading on our flannel,
Your lipstick grinning on our coat,
So gaily in love’s unbreakable heaven
Our souls on glory of spilt bourbon float.

Be with me, darling, early and late. Smash glasses---
I will study wry music for your sake.
For should your hands drop white and empty
All the toys of the world would break.

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