This awesome girl, Katie-- one of the people I follow on Twitter-- asked an interesting question of The Situation* this evening: "Do you think that everybody has someone out there for them? Like true loves."
I smiled after reading the tweet, because I already knew the answer. Sure enough, The Situation replied a second later with, "Fate has been scientifically disproved. Don't sit around and wait for it; make it happen!"**
Then, because I'd already decided that I would be blogging on the same topic minutes later, I @replied Katie myself and stirred a bit of controversy. "If it makes you feel any better," I wrote, "I believe in fate. ;-)"
And I do. Or, more specifically, I partially do. I believe that we, as people, have to work to achieve goals, and that it discredits those who train in a particular area for decades to call them "lucky," but also that we don't control every factor of our lives, and that some things come down to outside forces. For example, my grandfather was born into poverty, but by busting his ass, he managed to live the American Dream and become extremely successful and respected in his field. He's a hero of mine, and it would be insulting to suggest that he got so far in life just because of destiny. It would have been easy for him to live up to the low expectations and fall into the same cycle that claims thousands of others, but he worked, and it paid off. HOWEVER, not everything is controllable. He was healthy. He had the (unfair, but true) advantage of being white. He was born in a country where rising above class stature is possible. Most of what made my grandpa an incredible human being was his ambition and drive, but you have to admit that some of it was, well... fate-ish.
The same thing applies to the concept of talent. It's rightfully irritating to someone like The Situation to receive youtube comments that say things like, "I wish I could play piano like that!" He's been playing the damn thing since he was born. He didn't wake up one morning and think, "Gee, I wonder if I can be a musical badass. Yep! Looks like I can! All set." Calling talent a "gift" is insulting to those who fight for it. BUT, once again, there's another side to it all. The Situation has abnormally long fingers. He has a natural predisposition to music. When he was two years old and drawn to Paul McCartney, it wasn't because he consciously decided, "If I study this now, it'll provide me with an insecure job for my twenties." Some things just happen, and some coincidences seem too big for me to write them all off as chance.
So, you may be wondering, how can two people with such fundamentally different beliefs be right for each other? Well. Call me cheesy, but just like the debate of predestination vs. freewill, this is one mystery that I don't mind leaving unsolved. The answer is that we just are. Somehow, I look up to and admire someone with a philosophy totally different from my own, and he respects and listens to my points as well. We don't think the same way, but we have an unforgeable balance between us. Maybe it's because we were both at the right points in our lives to narrow down the options and choose people with complementary attributes, and our relationship is all math***. Maybe we work because we were supposed to. Maybe it's both. What do you think?
Chipotle burritos this year: 18
Nail color: "Hoodoo Voodoo," OPI
*I considered dropping the nickname, since we're all well aware of The Situation's identity by now. However, I've decided that it will probably be more beneficial to my boyfriend's career as a musician if the Google searches for his name provide links to, say, his music, rather than to exposés about his personal philosophies and descriptions of why he's lyke sUpEr hott. For future blogs, when I talk about him in a professional sense, I will use his name ("You should go see that dashing lad, Mike Lombardo, play a show tomorrow in Philadelphia!") and when I objectify him as either my capital-B Boyfriend or a nameless piece of manmeat, he will remain The Situation.
** I added the semicolon. Girlfriends are allowed to do stuff like that.
***What a terrifying sentence! Seriously. Makes me shiver.