A few years ago, I took an Interpersonal Communications class to fulfill some kind of requirement for my undergrad degree. It was a traumatic class for several reasons, including the fact that we were in the middle of a unit on Death and Dying when my grandmother passed away, and suddenly I became a case study for the whole class. Fresh grief does not lend itself to clumsy group analysis, FYI.
But also, in this class, we learned that romantic relationships follow a predictable arc of behavior. I don't remember exactly how it went, but I do remember that it began with people finding all similarities between them, and it ended with people finding all the differences between them.
Which is great. Except that it kind of ruined falling in love for me. You know that phase--that one where you and your new lover look at each other with stars in your eyes and say, "holy crap, you like water too? I love water. Water's the best! Can you believe that we, two water-loving people, found each other in this huge world?" And then you decide that you have so freakin much in common you better spend every single hour together? You know that one? It's really fun.
But since that class, all I can see is the arc. I'm on the upslope, I tell myself. There will be a downslope. This is what people do.
And suddenly you can see the strings holding it all up, and the guy dressed all in black lurking in the shadows, waiting to change the set for the next act, and it's a little less magical.
Just a little, though. For the record, I really do like water, and so does she. And it's still wicked fun. And I've still kinda got those stars in my eyes.