The Benchmark

Dearest Rachel –

I’d fill you in about last night’s dream – something about the Incredibles, with the kids more or less grown up, duking it out against a league of supervillains basically representing the Seven Deadly Sins (honestly, what is it about supervillains that compels them to a.) insist on some sort of theme to their operations, and b.) constantly attacking cities already populated by superheroes? You’d think, unless they were simply spoiling for a fight, they’d want to commit their crimes where they’re less likely to meet such resistance) – but that was already several hours ago, and, apart from that basic storyline, has already essentially faded from memory. Besides, there are topics within my own life that might well merit a letter, and since they occupy my waking hours, tend to stick with me so I can write to you in greater detail about them.

Yesterday after church found Daniel and me in a restaurant with the folks; much like the old days when we three families would go out together on the regular, only on a very reduced scale. Small talk was had throughout the meal, and among other topics, they asked about how Friday night went for me. Kids may grow up, and parents may grow old, but it seems that the latter are always wanting to know about the former’s social life – at least, when it’s in flux like mine is these days.

I should point out that, thanks to this newfound compulsion to write to you about every little thing that happens in my life, I had my story fairly straight and in detail; back in the days of college and before we were married, whenever I would go out, I’d be hard-pressed to go into such detail by the following morning, let alone after the passage of most of the weekend. Whether that’s a good thing or not, I’ll leave to you to decide, but it certainly seems to satisfy the folks.

But as I was telling them about this, it was slowly dawning on me that the universal tendency to compare against past experiences colors people’s expectations of possible similar future ones. The trust issues that several divorceés expressed reflected the poor treatment (or what they perceived to be poor treatment – I can’t discount the fact that their perception of what happened in the relationship is spun to make them look better, and their partner worse) they suffered at the hands of their previous partners, which make it considerably more difficult for them to form new relationships, as they assume they will likely suffer a similar fate.

Meanwhile, while I don’t know that I met any (at least, very few really talked about their background – those that did generally mentioned children in their lives, suggesting that they were part of the former background), there are those who are likely just confirmed singles, looking for a place to fit in within the church structure. They want a sense of belonging, but not necessarily anything more than that on a personal level. They’ve done just fine for themselves by themselves, thanks, and don’t see the need to complicate their lives with another person around them basically 24/7. I may be wrong, but I think this is where most of your old friends stand.

And I mention them because, while I’ve come to terms with the fact that none of them could ever be part of a relationship with me other than that of being a friend, at least one of them still serves as a benchmark in my mind. Possibly even the benchmark.

This may require some explanation. You’ll recall that what brought your attention to me was the letter I sent you, telling you that, of all the girls that I had met throughout the course of my college career, if I were allowed to choose one to spend the rest of my days with, it would be you. Now, you’ll recall, I assumed that this would simply creep you out, leading you to dismiss me forever, and I was ready to accept that, having said my piece, however pragmatic and unromantic it may have been in my sight – after all, it was hardly the sort of “I would die without your love” type of thing I associated with ‘real’ love letters at the time. Obviously, that’s not what happened, and within a little more than two years, we were on our way to doing just that. But you see where this started – I was already comparing you against others, and when I was with them, while I don’t deny enjoying spending time with them, I felt that I would rather be with you on a permanent basis.

Now, based on that, you would think that you would be the benchmark that I would be seeking in my search for ‘Megumi’. And while that’s partially true, it’s also somewhat unrealistic. Making the comparison is one thing, but the preference represents a false option at this point. If I were to prefer you to the girl I was seeing, could I tell her “I’m sorry, this isn’t working,” and come back to you? No. You’re gone, and off the table. You may be a benchmark, but since you’re no longer an option, there’s no point in comparing them to you, in terms of making a decision about some theoretical mutual future.

Enter your friend. As much as she has no desire for a romantic partnership (which, because of this, I thankfully don’t have to take personally – it’s not just me, she’s not interested in being with any man), and as much as she bristles at being compared to you (honestly, I think it’s why you brought her into your circle of friends – you saw a great deal of yourself in her. Apart from the fear that I might see her as a potential partner, I don’t see where this should bother her so), she still exists as a nearly (but not completely, as she still exists on this plane) impossible option.

In this way, she represents that new benchmark in determining whether a relationship is worthwhile; essentially, my realistic ideal, who I call “Megumi” for the lack of anything better for now, needs to be somehow better than her. Admittedly, I’m still not sure how to quantify this, but if I’m with someone, and I find myself thinking “she’s nice and all, but I think I’d enjoy being with the old group – and this one particular girl – more than her,” then I know I haven’t found Megumi in this person.

***

You know, you spoiled me, honey. Shortly after your passing (and several misinterpreted gestures of sympathy and assistance on her part), I basically told her much the same thing that I wrote you those many years ago, only to get the reaction from her that I had been expecting from you (which, of course, I no longer was expecting). I should have known better – and now I do – but my experience had taught me that such an expression would be welcomed. But you girls aren’t the same, from one to another, and won’t react the same to the same sentiments. Even at my age, I have to learn these things – or maybe re-learn, I’m not entirely sure.

The funny part is, as much as I’m embarrassed about baring my soul to her – more because of the reaction, and the fact that it makes charting our ongoing friendship a little more challengingly awkward, to avoid situations like that in the future – I don’t think it’s any less true. Even as I was telling the folks about the people I met on Friday – and the fact that I would likely be back to the next such meeting in December – I had to acknowledge that there was no one there that I would necessarily rather have spent my time with, than those of the old gang. But I’d made the commitment, and this was yet another new experience for me – and who’s to say that this one meeting proves anything? It may be true about the importance of first impressions, but they aren’t everything, after all – remember what you thought of me when you first met me?

Oh, I should also mention that my phone kept pinging throughout the evening with the text conversation between the gang, trying to connect with each other at the Woodfield food court. This certainly served to remind me of what was going on that I was missing out on, so maybe that’s a part of it. Maybe my outlook will change with the coming months. In any event, it’s something for me to think about.

For the time being, though, honey, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.