Imagine if we were swans?

Editorial Note: Originally published on 2012/04/06.

We’d croak when our partner died. No fun.

Two days ago, I was discussing soul mates with my friend. Whether we believed there is only one person out there for us, or if we actually had multiples. I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening considering this while in pottery class painting lopsided bowls, and I believe my initial instincts were right: that there is always more than one, and it’s always hinged on timing.

Also, that we don’t have an endless supply of soul mates. Like, we don’t run around smashing into them here, and there, and everywhere. Maybe we have three if we’re lucky. I like the number three, and have always said if I have kids three would be ideal because if one dies, then you have two left and the chances of those two also kicking it aren’t very high. Welcome to the basement of my mind, Reader.

That said, I’m not entirely sure what a “soul mate” is, and the name alone is so heavy with expectation that it’s making me uncomfortable. I mean, when you’re sitting across from someone, do you think: Is this my soul mate? because I don’t. I usually think: I would really like to touch your hair, and sit in your lap. Upside down.


Maybe better to call it Extreme Chemistry Which May Become Soul Matey If You Both Share The Same Level Of Interest In One Another And The Timing Is Right And You Become A Team Who Communicates Well And Laughs At The Same Things And Shares Secrets And Then With Time You Know You Are Indeed Soul Matey, Marty for short. As in: Do you have the right Marty with this piece?

A while back, I wrote this while trying to understand sexual chemistry, and I returned to it this morning to see if I still believed it, which I do. (I mean…who needs to evolve when the word coincé is so elegant?)

“Soul mate” is like “I love you.” They are sacred, to be respected, and never used lightly because the more you spread them around, the less worth they possess. Take me as example, I have only ever said “I love you” to one man. This means that the weight and worth of these three little words, in that order, are on par with the Wittelsbach-Graff Diamond.

It really is that simple, and I really did just compare myself to the world’s most expensive diamond. You should too. This is the standard to which you should hold yourself, and absolutely nothing less.

It is also the standard to which you should hold your wo/man / undecided. Quite honestly, I would bust a clown out of my life if he talked about the twenty other “soul mates” to whom he expressed his undying love before he met me. I am not interested in being an egg shoved into a carton alongside a trillion others.

Sidebar: If I was creeping a potential man on Facebook and saw that every single woman he dated he brought home to his family, and entrenched in the lives of his friends, I would find this a complete turn-off. For me, it means that when he intros me to his family, and his friends, I am just another egg in the carton. There is nothing special about me or the relationship which makes the introductions a little more weighty. Also, I am pretty sure that my mum is yelling from her home: THIS IS WHY YOU’RE STILL SINGLE!!

You remember my first Marty, about whom I wrote here. Marty is all across the board intensity, compatibility, and vulnerability which is natural, easy, and fun (people often forget that ‘fun’ is among the most important and relevant of glues that hold together a healthy and long-term relationship). It is neither calculated nor measured, but rather it is what it is. Often inexplicable because it is what I consider the “ex” factor, where God’s hand is at rest on your heart in the presence of another.

I came close once after my first Marty, but no cigar, and I am curious: How do you know you found one of your Marties?