I could never fully express why, but I had always cringed when a man would talk about his partner or introduce her as his better half. It bothered me somehow. It seemed to put a lot of pressure on her to be a better person, perhaps more organized and capable, all the while letting him easily off the hook to be the typical hapless, clueless male.
But there was more to it, it turns out.
***
The process of healing from my divorce has been a long one. I hold marriage as sacred, and it was supposed to last forever. Period. So when it didn't, there was always a little hope lingering at the back of my mind - if not in my heart - that perhaps we would find our way back to one another. When I was finally able to let go, I found my life to be quite full and fulfilling. Or maybe I was able to let go because I was whole again.
Last fall, I remember thinking quite regularly that there really wasn't much room in my life or my house for a man. All bedrooms in my three-bedroom house are occupied. I'd started sleeping diagonally in my double bed (not even a queen sized bed!). My very large closet was full with my clothes and accessories. The weeks I didn't have the kids were occupied with friends, house projects, and hobbies. My life was pretty full. I was whole. I was happy, plain old happy.
And that's when it happened. I met someone, a whole person, whose life was rather full, too, with work and friends and family and volunteering. He was happy all on his own. So was I. That's where the magic happened: neither of us needed the other, but we sure liked each other's company.
***
I don't want someone who would tell me, à la Jerry Maguire, "you complete me." I want someone who is already complete, and who reminds me of all the amazing things I'm capable of, and who loves me for all of it. Someone I can support and encourage in his strengths and abilities, and to love him through his weaknesses - and he through mine. Neither of us is a half of anything; we are each our own whole person. And it is so very good.
