Taking a closer look at the menu

Last week, for the first time in a while now, I found myself wishing my last boyfriend was still around. It was not because I missed him, however, or genuinely thought he should be back in my life. No, it was because my lawn mower was broken, and I didn't want to figure out how to deal with that on my own.

I'm not playing the helpless damsel-in-distress card here and implying that anything mechanical requires a man to handle it, and anything "homey" is a woman's domain. I really am a better feminist than that. It's just that, while there are plenty of homeowner-related tasks I'll freely tackle on my own*, small engine repair is simply not one of them. [I did manage to replace the mower's spark plug with a bit of advice from my neighbor, but beyond that, there wasn't a whole lot I felt comfortable trying.] My ex-boyfriend, on the other hand, while no expert on the matter, either, would at least have given it a go. Not because he's a man, but because he's all sorts of handy and he owns the proper tools and he's confident with trial and error. I have to say, whatever was missing in that relationship, whatever reasons it didn't last, the guy was terribly useful to have around. Not only was he good at fixing things and installing things and figuring things out; he also owned a truck, which means that even if he'd been unable to fix my ailing lawn mower, he would at least have made it easier for me to transport the thing to someone more qualified for repair. On top of that, he liked to cook, so it's not just the traditionally manly things that made him an asset to my life. Frankly, in retrospect, the scales were probably unevenly tipped in that relationship, and I'm really not sure just what it was I brought to the table.

I'm kidding (mostly). That's really not true. My ex-boyfriend was not perfect (that's really not the point), and I can actually think of several things I contributed to his life (and no, I'm not even talking about the dirty stuff).

In any case, I've been thinking a lot lately about which relationships work and why and which ones don't and why. [I'm sure this analysis has nothing to do with my recent dating spree or with my best friend's upcoming wedding or with the various things I've been reading lately. (No, actually it has everything to do with all of those.)] I don't claim to have any solid and universally relevant answers, but I do have some thoughts on what I think works for me.

Romantic or not, I've never been a fan of that famous "You complete me" line. And no, it's not just because it was uttered by the now frighteningly loony Tom Cruise to the insufferably squinty Renee Zellweger. It's because I hate the implication that I might not be a whole person on my own and I'm searching for that man who will fill in the gaps. Still, as I learned from my reliance on my ever-so-handy ex-boyfriend, I can't deny that a supplement to my skill set would quite often be useful. What makes a successful relationship, then (the way I see it, anyway) is a pair of compatibly intersecting life menus.

Apparently life menus are something Amy Krause Rosenthal wrote about, but I'm only slightly familiar with her work, so it's actually something I read about on Wordgirl's site a few weeks ago. (I hope she doesn't mind that I'm piggy-backing off that.) The idea, basically, is that for all of the gifts each person is given--all the skills and talents and desirable traits that prompt jealousy from friends and enemies--we all have negative traits that balance out the list. For example, I'm relatively good with words (much of the time, anyway; that's probably a dangerous claim to make in the midst of a post that seems to be rambling on to nowhere), but I cannot do "restaurant math" without checking and second-guessing and basically giving myself a headache. I can read a map and be a successful navigator, but my internal compass is not particularly reliable. I have tiny, ladylike wrists and relatively toned arms, but I also have this freakish toe thing that I don't want to go into, and... OK, you get the point.

These are not the traits that are particularly relevant to a relationship, of course, but the concept still holds true. We all know that I don't cook, so a guy with that on his life menu will score some extra points with me. As will a guy who can fix things and install things, who takes an interest in investment planning, and who will call the cable or phone company when there's a problem.** In turn, I'll begrudgingly clean the house (sporadically, at least), do the laundry, balance the checkbook (as long as I'm not in a restaurant), and ensure he can use a comma and a semicolon correctly.***

I realize a lot of my focus here is on tasks (or rather, task avoidance), and I surely don't mean to overlook the obvious other benefits of a relationship (love and companionship and all that). But when you've lived alone as long as I have and have been alone responsible for all the many time-consuming duties that come with being a functioning adult and homeowner, it's hard not to consider the truly practical side of partnering up: the welcome division of labor. I'm reminded, suddenly, of the Simpsons episode where Homer runs for Garbage Commissioner on the platform of "Can't someone else do it?" I imagine that one of the very real benefits of having a husband around is the ability to say "Yes, as a matter of fact; someone else can."

Household job-sharing aside, I do think this life menu idea is valid. Recently, I had more than three dates with the same man (remarkable, yes, I know), but despite our many common interests and almost eerie similarities, it sort of fizzled out. I'm not really sure why, but the best explanation I can come up with is that our life menus didn't intersect. I know I'm just looking for a boyfriend/companion at the moment; I don't need or want to get married immediately, but I'm still at a point where I can't help considering the long term. And when I consider the long term with this one, all I can think is, "Sure, we'll never fight about what CD to listen to on road trips, but one of us has to have a sense of direction." Or, "OK, we'll agree on a restaurant with no problem, but one of us should probably cook once in a while." On top of that, he was also a writer, so my occasional prowess with words wasn't even particularly notable to him. Our life menus (the plusses and the negatives) are identical; we need some variety in the mix. After all, no one really wants to date themselves, right? And that's sort of what it felt like with him.

Maybe all of this is just another way of saying that opposites attract. I've been reluctant to subscribe to that theory, because I think it's hard to have a relationship with someone who shares no common interests or who has a fundamentally different set of values, but maybe those are not the sorts of opposites that cliché is about. Maybe it's about finding someone who compensates for the things you lack or encourages you to grow in ways you wouldn't on your own. Maybe it's about choosing someone whose qualities will mesh with yours to make a successful team (much like I try to pick Trivial Pursuit partners who can pick up my slack in the Sports & Leisure category, knowing full well I'll contribute my part on the Entertainment questions). That, to me, is what this life menu concept helps to describe.

Regardless, until I find the elusive guy whose life menu intersects perfectly with mine, I really am quite fine and happy on my own. I worry that perhaps all this talk of dates and searching makes me sound in some way desperate for a relationship, and that’s really not the case at all. Red's recent post titled Sex & the Single Girl really resonated strongly with me, because I feel exactly a lot of the same things she described.**** I'm fiercely independent, and like Red, I often feel like the "lone wolf" who has a harder time figuring out how to make room for someone in my life than figuring out how to live comfortably on my own. I do want to find someone to share my life with, but I'm not in any rush to force it if it's not right. The search for love shouldn't be like a game of musical chairs, where we all go around in circles until the music stops and then grab the nearest seat just so we're not left out. I don't want to feel pressured to be at some other place in my life just because it's where most of the people around me are. Like Lea Thompson as Amanda Jones in Some Kind of Wonderful, who pondered whether it was better to be with someone for the wrong reasons than alone for the right ones, I'm confident that I'd rather be right.

Oh, and my lawn mower? It's fixed now, without any help from a man (except, of course, for the man who I paid to fix it). I don't need an intersecting life menu for that after all.


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* I scraped and repainted the exterior of my whole damn house last summer nearly entirely by myself; remember?

** I can't be the only one who hates talking to those people, right? Is it even possible to call with a quick question or problem without being subject to a series of unwanted sales pitches for additional services?

*** OK, I'd be hard pressed to find a man who's really looking for help with his punctuation, but I had to work that in somewhere, don't you think?

**** Seriously, if you haven't read that yet, you really should click that link and do so, because it's extremely well articulated and relevant.