So apparently 94% of twenty-somethings believe in soul mates. Soul. Mates. Souls that merge, have intercourse, dunk into each other‘s personal bits. Wiggle around and feel better together. And according to that same article, 87% of us think that we are going to end up marrying that one, predestined person, who makes us stronger, faster, and more perfect. Oh, and then? Dot, dot, dot. Here is where I become skeptical… I become concerned whenever the story ends with shrugged shoulders and a, “You know, dot, dot, dot…” Naw. C’mon now twenty-somethings. Get a grip.

Or so I thought…

I am the last person I know who would ever leap forehead first into the pool of non-logical, soul mate proselytizing. Nope, not this girl. I intentionally coat myself in logic, in check-lists, in vision creating, in tests and re-tests, in we’ll just “make it work,” in partnership-seeking and building. I think (thought. Yes, it’s coming…) of relationships like a financial investment. Like a venture capitalist—analyzing, evaluating earning potential, calculating risk, consulting experts, board of directoring, ass covering. That’s me—boom, boom, boom, chhhhh. But something happened on Sunday that turned my logical ass on its ass…

Jamie…. Sigh…. O, o, o, he’s magic.

I looked at him and recognized him. I felt him, I knew him. And I couldn’t look away. I felt his skin against mine and suddenly lost the ability to clearly differentiate where my physical body ended and his began. It was as if our essence, our molecules, and protons, and neutrons, and electrons, were all reduced, beyond quarks, to their immortal essence. And the vibration of that essential energy was THE SAME. Our vibration was the same. I felt us pulse—starting from inside my chest where my former heart used to live. Beat, expand, push. Beat, expand, push. I couldn’t hear my thoughts or feel my feelings… because I didn’t have any of my own—they were OURS.

He put his palm against my chest and took my hand to his… and asked me if I could feel that. THAT. Electric, ridiculous, stretching of feelings, and love, and magic and beliefs. THAT. Melting of disappointment and heartache and whatchagonnadoaboutit fears. THAT. Destruction of isolation, of alone-ness, of disconnection.

Yessssss….. I could feel that. I WAS THAT.

I wanted to pull away. Afraid of him, of us, leafing through what had not yet been seen, or experienced. And what desperately wanted to remain under wraps… to keep me as THE SAME: delusional, and separate from other forms and beings and lives.

Please don’t pull away, he said… because he heard me desire it. I cried. Stayed put. And pooled into an ever expansive ocean of Jodi. And he cried, too. And wrapped himself around my separation from M, my anger, my loss, my void, my drained and discontent and wounded. He said he thought he was processing my sadness, because I couldn’t do it on my own. We sobbed.

And then, POOF, gone. No more pinchy, ouchy, hurting. My heart(ish area) felt like putty. And I could see myself, better. I could see myself at the end of the grief, looking back, like phew. HE DID THIS. This magical man…

It occurred to me that this is what GOD had in mind when he created the concept of teamwork. I KNOW THIS: I will never again process a single challenge alone. He is suddenly, inexplicably, and necessarily a part of my everything. So yes, we are stronger together. And yes, he makes me more perfect. And yes, I believe him to be predestined. Goddammit! I want to scream in public. Okay, OKAAAAAY. You got me… I FUCKING BELIEVE!

Conveniently he looks great on paper, too. (So CHECK that off my list). But all that is now a moot point… because I’ve realized something so beautiful… this is a zero risk investment. Because how could I possibly hurt him when I IS him? How could I accidentally stomp on my own heart? How could he ruin me when his bits are ours? Not possible. Nope, not possible.

Well hello, Soul Mate. I’ve been waiting for you. Dot, dot, dot.