The Man I’m Marrying Isn’t My Type

Seems to be a pretty scary thing to have a hold on, with the clock ticking down to when you will (soon!) make a lifetime commitment. After having this rock on my Digitus Annula’ris (That’s medical terminology for ring finger. Sometimes I like to Google random crap.) for over eleven months, you think I would’ve already realized this. Well, I did. And I knew it from the get-go.

My fiancé and I are opposites in many ways, and there’s no other time that it’s more apparent than when we travel. On any given flight, you’ll find him hunched over, guzzling coffee and answering work emails, until he gets so tired (yes, even with the coffee) that he’ll take a nap, then wake up and get back to hurriedly typing away. Never mind that it’s a scheduled vacation. I, on the other hand, dive deep into a book for leisure, pausing ever so often only to glance at the world beneath us or to contemplate what I’ve just read. Downtime for him at the hotel is a computer game or two, with the other players shouting “Die, Die!” before doing more freelance work while I, resting in only a robe on the bed, sip champagne and read about the Art of Possibility.

The man I’m marrying does everything with logic, I do everything with heart.

The man I’m marrying loves technology, I love antiques.

The man I’m marrying needs hard facts, I need spirituality.

He’s a scientist, I’m an Artist. He’s a gamer, I’m a writer. He’s left brained, I’m right brained. He’s suburban, I’m street smart. He’s Yin, I’m Yang. (Actually, I’m not sure which is which. The whole Yin Yang thing is much more complicated than 90’s tattoos.)

Surely you know what I’m about to say now. Yes—we balance each other out. He’s calm when I’m overdramatic, he can handle me at my worst. I’m understanding when he’s over particular, and my tendency to “go with the flow” flows well into him stubbornly having his way at times.

When I was growing up, I was always attracted to bad boys, artists, musicians. Other free spirits that thought like I do and knew about what I did. Those relationships were always tumultuous, fueled by passion that was a force to be reckoned with, then devastating in the end. We could never provide for the other person what they needed, because we each only possessed what the other person already had.

The man I’m marrying isn’t my type–he’s my match. I don’t need a type anymore, anyhow.

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