Sans Fig Leaf
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"Hold the mayo"
14 April, 2005
Years ago several of the computer bulletin board systems I frequented introduced a form of on-line profile (although I don't think they had such a cool name). Most were implemented as surveys, and presumed the surveyees were seeking relationships. They tried to generate a "compatibility rating" by matching your answers to the answers of the person you were browsing.
The surveys weren't very useful. As Julie pointed out, "Several of them ask 'Do you like romantic walks on the beach?' Who's going to say 'no' to that? And there's a big difference between, 'yes I would if the other person asked me to and we happened to be near a beach,' and 'yes, I must go to the beach several times a year/month/week or I get cranky.'"
She had some alternate questions that none of the administrators wanted to add: Do you prefer chunky or creamy peanut butter? Do you prefer mayonaise of Miracle Whip®? (Do you even know there's a difference?) Chocolate or licorice? Coffee or tea? Coke® or Pepsi®? She wasn't trying to say that two people who disagree about whether mayonaise tastes good on a bologna sandwich. But there were two series points behind her questions.
The first is that our ability to get along with another person in close quarters often comes down to little, everyday, sorts of things. I've never, ever heard anyone argue about whether walking on a beach is nice--but I've heard hundreds of arguments about which drawer the can-opener belongs in.
Her less obvious point was that comparing two persons' answers to a series of questions would never predict how compatible they are. A better predictor is one person's reaction to another person's answers, and vice versa. Because what may be a trivial issue to one person might be a deal breaker for the other.
For example, I briefly dated a guy who seemed to be very compatible. We were both into music -- he actually gets paid from time to time to compose, I can play several instruments and like to fiddle around with compositions. We were both into the same sorts of movies and books. We had very similar senses of humor. And so on.
His idea of a great time out with friends always, always involved lots of alcohol. He insisted on going out for cocktails at least four-five times a week. It wasn't that he insisted I go with him all those times, but he would do it, with or without me. My idea of a great time out with friends almost never involves alcohol. I don't object to alcohol, and I happen to have a penchant for classic cocktails, but it's something I only want to do every now and then. Also, I'm much more of a homebody; I don't want to be out at clubs or restaurants that many times a week. If I'm with someone, I don't want to be sitting at home alone that many nights a week, either.
If we'd kept seeing each or tried to live together, we would have gotten on each others' nerves very quickly.
Another guy I dated insisted on doing everything together. One night when I wanted to work on one of my stories he kept calling to see if I was bored yet--because he was, and he wanted to go do something. I suggested he could come over and watch any of the zillion movies I owned, or listen to some music. He said he'd only enjoy it if I would get up from the keyboard and watch with him. I suggested he could go do something with one of his friends. Again, he didn't want to do it without me.
There are times I want to do things together, but there are also times that I just want to write. Or read. Or sit and think. He couldn't understand that; worse, he thought that it was proof I didn't care for him. His definition of caring sounded more like my definition of psychotically codependent and obsessed. Obviously, we weren't compatible, either.
On the other hand, on many of those food questions Michael and I have opposite answers. I prefer mayo, Coca-cola, chocolate, and coffee. Michael doesn't. But I take the attitude that that just means more for me, and more for him.
We're both okay with that.
I enjoy movies and old TV shows a lot more than Michael does. Michael loves computer games and I can't stand them. Where the compatibility comes in is that we have lots of activities we enjoy doing together. One of which is sitting at our respective computers and practically ignoring each other for hours on end.
There are all sorts of topics on which we disagree. Most of those we agree aren't worth arguing over. On others our disagreement is in the peripheries of the topic, not in the fundamentals.
Being able to disagree amicably requires us be secure enough in our skins not to require the implied approval of agreement and respecting the other person enough to trust that disagreement doesn't imply rejection.
It's the compassionate, rather than vicious, circle.