So, I was watching Crazy, Stupid Love a little while ago. Yes, one of those feel-good chick flicks. I honestly really watched it solely for Steve Carell, since he’s one of my favorite actors. While most people saw it for Ryan Gosling, I saw it for the other dorky main character.
Anyway, I digress.
I was watching this movie, and at the end, Steve’s character cuts off his son’s 8th grade graduation speech to talk about soul mates, and how he met his when he was 15 (his soon to be ex-wife, though they made it seem like reconciliation was possible by the end of the movie). He said something like, “I’ve loved her every minute of every day for the last 25 years. I even loved her when I hated her.”
So you can probably guess that by the end of the movie, I was crying, well, because I cry at the end of most happy ending chick flicks. But I don’t think it was for the usual reasons. I used to cry at the end of chick flicks because I wanted to experience the endings. Isn’t that the cheesiest thing ever? Like, do you remember the Lizzie McGuire Movie? I wanted to get up on stage and sing my heart out at the end in front of loads of people and then kiss Gordo. How about What a Girl Wants? I wanted to find my prince charming in London.
Ah well. Let’s snap back to reality here.
Soul mates. I thought I met mine when I was 15. He came in the form of a tall, slightly chubby blonde dude from New Zealand (who also grew up in Sydney, AU, which is pretty damn cool). We were together for ages, but by the time I got out of high school, we were going in opposite directions. Thinking we could make it work, we were stupid and got married. I was 19, and he was 23. Five months later, it was splitsville for us. Yeah, we had some rough times, but we have a friendly acquaintance-like thing going on these days.
Shortly after that, I thought I met my soul mate in a bowling alley. He came in the form of a tall dark-haired quiet dude with some major family baggage (I seem to attract those). He’s what I like to call “The Whirlwind”, mainly because we got together, got married a few months later, and then separated a year later. Somewhere during that time, I got to know one of his friends on a more personal level, and hell, I thought maybe he was my soulmate too, but he never wanted to ruin our friendship.
Finally, my soul mate came in the form of a tall, sarcastic smart ass from Philadelphia, who lives and breathes (not literally) cheesesteaks and technology. Kind of a crazy combination eh? Well, regardless of that, we did things right. We started dating, then we moved in together a few months later. Then a year later he proposed, and then a couple months later, we got married. And almost three years later, we are still married. And I still love him as much as the day he called me up drunk from a karaoke bar to serenade me with “The Way You Look Tonight.”
I’ve loved him every minute of every day, even when I hate him. Not that that’s an often occurrence, because it’s not. We have our fleeting moments of typical relationship crap (but then again, who doesn’t?), and we get over it. Because that’s what soul mates do. We fight and we get over it.
I look at my parents, who are coming up on their 40th wedding anniversary, and I often wonder how they made it that far. And then when I figure it out, I realize how much Mr. Fox and I are like my parents. If soul mates truly exist, then my parents are the epitome of soul mates.
They met on a cruise ship, and it was all downhill (in the best possible way) from there.
Years and years later, Mr. Fox and I met on Myspace (whoa, Myspace?!), and it was all downhill from there.
Love is crazy and stupid. But that’s what makes it love.
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