We all love a good story. There were times in college that we went out and did things (read: went to a party with a lot of random people, for example) just because we knew that, in the end, it would make for a good story. Stay in and study vs. head out & do something irresponsible? Irresponsible and crazy inevitably won out in the end; after all, if there weren’t any good stories, what would we talk about when we were procrastinating from studying? We were nothing if not logical.
This holds true for relationships. How you met is usually the first question you get when you start dating someone new, and trust me, you’d better have a good story to tell. Nobody wants to hear “we met at a bar, he asked me out, we fell in love, got married, and lived happily ever after.” We want the juicy details, the fact that he used to date your next-door neighbor while he was pining away for you, or the fact that you had a gigantic crush on him from the time you were 15 until he finally woke up and realized you two were meant to be. Maybe it was a whirlwind romance, where you met on a plane to Europe and have never looked back, or perhaps you met two years prior but don’t remember it (though he does.) Regardless, the more elaborate, the more synchronistic, the more ‘fated’ it seems, the more that you believe that perhaps it’s just ‘meant to be.’
I think it’s a bunch of hooey, though I’ve fallen under this trap in the past. I’m still ‘vascillating’ (to use the term my father prefers to use when describing whether or not I’ll eventually go to Med school) over the concepts of fate & destiny and all that’s involved with it, but I think my cynical and jaded side might win out. I’ve HAD the good stories. I’ve envisioned the future where my hubby and I tell the charming tale over a glass of wine at our dinner party, going back and forth, each adding a tidbit and smiling to each other since only WE know the entire story. I’ve pictured the storybook romance, the chick flick ending, where despite apparent tragedy, the hero and heroine end up in each others arms, waltzing off into the sunset, proving once and for all that true love will prevail. I like to think that ‘meant to be’ means something, but my heart is beginning to tell me that timing and distance and life gets in the way, that ‘meant to be’ is about as valid as ‘happily ever after.’
There’s no set equation for a successful relationship. Somehow between ‘not that easy’ and ‘shouldn’t be this hard’, sometime between ‘playing the field’ and ‘settling down’, somewhere between ‘right around the corner’ and ‘the other side of the ocean’ lies true love, or at least as close to it as we actually come. Some people try long distance; it can work, it can fail. I’ve seen, and experienced, both. Some hit the bar scene with gusto, sure that one of these nights in the midst of Jager Bombs and beer goggles they’ll find Mr. or Ms. Right, bucking the odds and finding the love they’re seeking. Others ride the technological bandwagon and use Match.com or other online dating sites to seek an amour, trusting ‘psychological assessment tests’ and basically judging a lot on looks. And then there’s me, a perplexed quasi-old fashioned gal that thinks that it’ll probably happen when you’re least expecting it (though I think you’re always expecting it a bit) and just living my life to the fullest in the meantime, good story or not.
But whatever the story, whatever the equation, I just long for the day where 1+1=2, for good.
AubreySabala.com 
I’ve known my boy friend since grade school, and back when I was 19 I had huge crush on him, but he liked someone else. Finally after 4 years of being head over heels inlove with him, I told him and he told me the same, and we have been together ever since!
I met my wife at a party in ’96, both of us watching each other- interested, but with other people. She was in a little black number she still has, looking like a mix of Sarah Jessica Parker and Jennifer Aniston (really!), smoking a cigar with her business partners to celebrate a succesful year end. All it took was eye contact and I was smitten. Spent some time getting to know her, but circumstances (read rich, controlling parent- her Dad) kept us apart. Then our paths kept on crossing, even though we ran in different social circles- (she was in Chagrin Falls and I was in Kent, do you know those towns?)- and then we lost track of each other for years.
She called me in ’01, wanting a tarot reading. Her Dad was gone, but she was with yet another rich controlling bastard, latest in a long line of significant others who fit what her father wanted for her. She was getting ready leave him, start over and move to the West coast. I was getting ready to finish off a long distance relationship and move to Vermont, and live in a bus. We met at Ray’s in Kent for a beer. We never moved. Now we are married with a beautiful son. Our first movie together was… Serendipity. Really, no s**t. Well, if that can happen in OHIO…
‘Course if I could spell and put in all the words I meant to, the previous post might make more sense. Hope you get the gist of it. It is possible you know. Thanks for the link to dooce in your “currently thinking”. Reminds me of how good it is, despite all the everday garbage life throws at me, to be a husband and father to the two people with whom I am meant to be. Damn.
You can find old-fashioned love on match. I did. It’s hard, but worth a shot.
I don’t think there is a “one” or that anything’s “meant to be.” There are, however, plenty of “wrong ones.” I think that if you end up in love, any getting together story becomes special. Because even if you just, say, met at a bar, there was what you were wearing and that silly thing he said and maybe you spilled beer on his pants. It’s special because it’s your story. Even if there’s no movie ending.