With Valentine’s Day coming up, Cupid is flitting about, aiming his little arrows at unsuspecting guys and girls. Struck by his projectiles, two people will suddenly find themselves in love.
Most romantics don’t know it, but ole’ Cupid is pretty careful to aim those love darts at two people whose natures are opposite of each other, rather than two people who are just alike.
Ironically, opposites attract each other. Human attraction works on the same principle as magnets. It’s the positive and negative that bring the two magnetic halves together. Two positive ends repel each other as do two negatives. Humans seem to know instinctively that a relationship needs the balance that is provided by two opposite sets of qualities.
Two people who are exactly alike are rarely attracted to each other. We are more attracted to people whose characteristics are opposite our own because they supply the qualities that are missing in our own natures.
So, for example, you find outgoing social people appreciating quiet, introverted companions. The impulsive extrovert supplies the fun and energy in the relationship while the introvert supplies the caution and forethought that will get the bills paid on time.
The extrovert is only interested in what’s going on outside of herself, so she tends to have to keep something going on all the time, usually without much attention to consequences. The introvert is more focused on what’s going on inside his mind — he mulls over everything and evaluates the possible consequences of his actions.
Put two social butterflies together and you get great parties, but neither thinks seriously about getting the kids to school on time or starting an IRA. Put two bossy types together and there’s no one to take orders. Each winds up resenting the other for being pushy and always thinking he or she is right.
Put two shy types together and they won’t get married at all because neither can work up the courage to pop the question!
My husband and I are living proof of this attraction of opposites. You can see our different approaches to life by watching how we go through our day.
He charges into the day. He gets up early, dashes by and sticks his frozen biscuits in the oven, lets the dogs out, turns on the TV in the kitchen and opens his phone at the same time so he won’t miss a thing that has happened overnight. Then he starts rustling up bacon and grits.
When I arrive on the scene sometime later, with one eye open (only because I’ll run into the wall if I keep both eyes closed) I prefer silence.
It is not to be. He is full of the events we missed while sleeping and ready to share them with me: “Iran is threatening to bomb Israel again. And remember that deer with the plastic jack-o-lantern stuck on his head? They got it off. The deer is okay. And I’m thinking we ought to reallocate some of our investments. What do you think?”
I respond “Unhuh” with as much enthusiasm as I can muster before I have at least two cups of black coffee.
Even our coffee habits are different. He makes one cup in a French coffee press, using enough ground coffee to jumpstart an elephant’s heart. After making it, he drinks about a half cup. He’s through for the day. He likes the taste but doesn’t need the effect of the caffeine.
I make my coffee in a Keurig. I drink the whole cup. Then I want another cup. And another cup. The caffeine opens my eyes and unlocks my jaws so that by 9 a.m. I can speak normally and eat my graham crackers.
We approach our daily responsibilities differently. He’s out early doing errands, cutting grass, knocking out his to-do list by noon. He attacks a problem as soon as it develops. I prefer to drift until noon if possible. I’ll play Solitaire and watch QVC. If a problem pops up, I just drink more coffee. I’d rather think about it than solve it.
When the phone rings, he grabs it, sure there’s great news on the other end. I’m more reluctant to answer a ringing phone. Somebody probably wants me to make little sandwiches with the crusts cut off for a luncheon. I’ll just pretend I didn’t see the notification. If it’s a true sandwich emergency, they’ll call back.
I get motivated to tackle my to-do’s sometime after 2 p.m. Now I’m rolling. Both eyes are open and my brain is in gear. I may start writing a speech at 10 p.m. By 9 p.m. he’s glazed over and napping in his chair.
We’re different, but I don’t need him to change. If he did, we’d both be hogging the Keurig, chattering away about the deer with the pumpkin on his head with neither of us listening to the other, or we’d both be running into the walls with our eyes closed.
No. Cupid, you did a good job when you aimed your arrow at the two of us who live together so well because we’re opposites.
