Well, thankfully I have a blog, right, so I can ramble about the thoughts that run through my head?
Every so often I see something on Facebook or some other place on the internet about how there is no such thing as “the one”, and about how we should stop believing that there is someone else who is our other half.
The backlash is understandable. We want to believe that we are whole, independent, complete, awesome, and entirely responsible for our own happiness. I suspect many of us realize we are somewhat deceiving ourselves on a deeper level, and that is why we need so much verbiage to say otherwise. We also want to believe that the world operates entirely in a realm of statistics and probability. That among the 6 billion human beings that live on the earth, the idea that there is someone out there who fits you is absurd. And then there are all those studies of people who take harder hits in their relationships “because” they also believe in “soulmates”. But maybe that doesn’t actually reflect on the concept of soulmates being wrong. Maybe it reflects more on those people themselves. Maybe they are the dreamers, the flamboyant ones, the emotional ones. Maybe they are the idealists, the easily disappointed, the ones afraid of conflict. Maybe what is the culprit is not the belief itself, but the type of humanity that is prone to believing such a thing. Isn’t that just as likely? Or maybe the term itself is wrong, maybe it’s wrong to the point of being silly. Maybe we ought to throw the word out, since it’s been misused. Maybe we ought to not use it at all, since it has so many different meanings to different people.
As a child, I think I hoped for someone I might be able to consider a soulmate, which to me meant a kind of kindred soul, someone who matched me. In high school, I had a few friends who I held dear to my heart as kindred souls, friends who I felt at ease with, who I could ping-pong back and forth as if they were the peanut butter to my jelly. But early into my twenties, I looked down upon the idea of someone who could match me. Neither could I fathom the idea of being incomplete. Among all the people that I knew, I had crushes, this and that, people I got along with, people I liked, people I loved, but the idea of a soulmate seemed like something out of a fairytale. I built it up in my head, and then when I saw the environment, the world, the humans, I reckoned that perhaps no one could ever really understand me at all, because that’s what matching meant to me.
On the one hand, I was right, I think. No one would understand. No one would be that perfect match. But it wasn’t because I was complete. And it wasn’t because there wasn’t “the one”. It wasn’t because I had this flawed concept about love or that I needed to read more about arranged marriages or watch less Korean dramas. I have to say, I did address those things, and I can’t entirely say it had no bearing on my mind now. But really, no one could ever understand me, I think, because even I could not understand myself. Yet there was a longing that someone might understand me, someone might heal the soul that I felt was conceivably broken. That longing would be fulfilled by God. I could fling my soul on Him, the very One I was fearful of, the very One I couldn’t understand, and He would carry me. He knew me and loved me, more than I would ever know.
And on the human match side, the first time I met my now husband, I didn’t know he was the one. Even seven years after we first met, I still didn’t quite know. Yet when we did start courting each other in His time, day after day, I couldn’t believe what I was finding. What I didn’t believe in, really existed. I can’t say this is going to be every person’s experience, because I know we are all individuals with our individual experiences. But I guess part of me is bothered that people are discrediting the idea of “the one”, claiming that it does not exist. Because I know that for us, it was finding the other pea who belonged in the pod. We could finally be at rest here. We fit together. If I was the right shoe, he was the left shoe. Not in a desperate, dramatic kind of way, but as a simple yet sweet and happy fact. I love my other half.