I’ve started online dating again. I feel ready to meet people and eager to investigate what makes others interesting – everyone is interesting in some way if only I believe it and search for it. So I will.
Whereas previously I’ve been desperate to find some connection in others because I was so lacking in confidence of my own self worth – I had to somehow receive it from others – I feel the journey of getting to know others worth taking the time for, now. If I were single for a year or two more, this would not be the end of the world. That idea terrified me not more than 6 months ago.
This site supposedly provides an idea of your compatibility with potential romantic matches based on the answers that you each provide to a series of personality trait questions relating to love, lifestyle, sex etc.
I came across a profile with an interesting black and white profile picture – a bulging bicep clearly visible due to a strategically positioned arm. I clicked, I was curious. We had a 97% compatibility which was the highest I had seen so far.
There was humour in the description, which was long. Sometimes arrogant, but also self-deprecating. It was written as if advertising some product – this person was versatile and would fit into your lifestyle and result in “domestic bliss” for you, the lady consumer. Clearly this person was serious, but not too serious that it appeared desperate. At several points I laughed out loud and appreciated the style of humour I was reading. I didn’t want to skip ahead – this person knew how to write; I drank in all of those words. It reminded me of my previous partner and the way he would relish the opportunity to string so many words together like this.
The book section was enormous! But not a list – it flowed like poetry. Bukowski, Hunter S Thompson, Irvine Welsh… hold on. This is weird. Could this be him? I kept reading. Next up this: a positively disastrous account of James Joyce’s Ulysses, just as I’d expected.
I finished reading. I opened the image gallery. Mother fuck! This is him. In all his ridiculously photoshopped glory. Black and white photographs with some ironically coloured part of the image – this is his humour. There’s even a fucking image of his 6 pack out of focus while some Goddamn classics are stacked in the foreground. That curly hair, those beautiful eyes, the cheeky eyes. My stomach dropped when I realised this was him. The man I spent two intense years with, desperately in love, through terrible and beautiful times. Here he was again, a stranger once more. Seeking love from other strangers.
97%. Life is funny sometimes – what does this mean? What is it within that measly 3% that caused the complete incompatibility of our personalities? If 97% compatibility can’t work….what the fuck will?