The Road Is Real. Fate Is Not.

I blow stuff way out of proportion. A lot. More than most probably. I also tend to err toward the romantic and this is where most all the problems start. Every first kiss is magical and deep and is the beginning of something that no catastrophic event could ever destroy. Soul mates, every one of em. Meant to be, fate brought us together, destiny. All of that.

Of course it’s all bullshit. I know it now. And sadly (pathetically?) I probably knew it then. I mean, how many soul mates do you get in life? By many counts that answer is exactly zero.

I don’t quite recall my first legitimate kiss but I now it was a neighborhood girl on whom I harbored a serious crush. I was in no way meaningful and nothing ever came of it. In fact, to my recollection, it was never outright spoken of again. Sure I tried and tried to repeat the interaction. I knew it was special. Obviously. There’s no way the girl you’ve been lusting after (if you can lust when you’re not yet at double digits) just kisses you for no reason. But that’s all it was. That’s all there was: a whole lot of nothing.

I got my first real girlfriend in middle school. We met under duress. We dated under duress. We split when that duress subsided. She came into my life when I needed something to help me understand my emotions. It was meant to be! We were as passionate as two people who had yet to have The Talk or even health class could be. On the plus side we got through the death of a mutual friend. On the negative side I held on for weeks, trying to convince her of something I was slowing realizing was a lie: there was love because of fate and it was fate that brought us together.

Once again, bullshit. But at least I was starting to figure some things out. Not that it really matters…you’ll see why in a minute.

My high school girlfriend lasted a year and three days. We argued every day. We made up every day; sometimes several times a day. We traded virginities. We met in choir. My god! We were meant to be! Adults argue and make up all the time, so obviously this was a sign of maturity. Sex? That’s for adults; for people who are responsible and loving. And we both like the same bands! I mean, how many teenagers happen to have the same taste in music? (Yeah. All of them. I know that now.) And they also have sex. And fight. And make up. And maybe adults shouldn’t fight so much and maybe it isn’t a sign of a healthy relationship. Again, no shit. But youthful escapades and all that.

It’s not that we weren’t meant to be, it’s just that we were teenagers. As far as I can recall I didn’t quite grasp that at the time but I had my suspicions. And that was a good thing.

I then moved on - after too many tears and maybe just a slight amount of what we now call stalking - to a girl who was on the rebound. I was nursing an inkling of a thought about “signs” and “fate”’ but hadn’t added “is/are bullshit” qualifier yet. We focused on sex. And then risky sex. And then veiled jealousy. Sex and jealousy - what could possibly go wrong? Everything, of course. I did absolutely every last thing I could to convince myself we were special. But this was my first tiny epiphany: we are not special. We were broken, if we had ever been whole to begin with. Thus the ending of this one isn’t really important because I can’t say for certain we legitimately started. Maybe we ended up together for no discernible reason. Whoa.

Fate (or whatever) led me to three more women after her, each more fated (?) than the last. All fated for me through some kind of devine intervention into my love life. Well, at least my sex life. Now I knew for sure fate was real and only something that powerful could lead me in the right direction. Yes, I was ignoring everything that had happened to this point and was willfully ignorant of my situation. But I’m assuming you’ve already caught on to that.

Finally I met the girl who would become my wife. (And later my ex-wife, but I’m getting ahead of myself.)

A random seven A.M. AA meeting in a town neither of us lived in brought us together. I was there to quit drinking. She was there too…actually I still don’t quite know. She never seemed too sold on the not drinking idea until we started dating. She was single. I was single. We were both sober. It was stupid early in a room we both had to drive thirty minutes to. That right there has to mean something right?

And we both loved to read. And we know all the words to the same obscure indie emo song - a nine minute opus! We both loved musicals and singing along loudly. And of course this was all fate.

I’m going to omit the bad things here the same way I omitted them from my immediate view then. While it was happening…in real time. My fingers would fall off from the amount of typing that would take anyway.

But the facts remain: we really, honestly seemed in some abstract way to be fated to meet. Sure we made three beautiful kids, but there has to be more. There has to be more because it it wasn’t fate but convinced myself it was and we ended in divorce, what does it mean for the validity of every relationship I’ve ever had?

Now I’m single and even with all the women whom “fate” so brashly threw into my life thoughout my past, all I see in my rearview is open road. And as it turns out the view is the same in front of me.

But isn’t something missing? Fate maybe? Yes. But that’s for a damn good reason:

The road is real. Fate is not.