Time to step out from behind the firewall
IT started out innocently enough. “Download this software and protect yourself from harmful viruses ... block those annoying pop-ups ... shield your computer from menacing hackers with this powerful firewall!” Wow, talk about your virtual superhero! I downloaded.
As the software streamed in, I daydreamed about dating a superhero. Then everything froze: the screen, the mouse and the printer. A single box appeared bearing the message: “Compatibility issue detected.” What?! No, this can’t be ... not again. I didn’t read the rest. Instead, I shut everything down and stared out the window. Now, not only was my computer crashing, I was left to wallow in its metaphor.
How many messages had I received from friends and relatives -- and how many times had my own intuition told me -- that Mr. Potential and I were not compatible?
When friends cautioned that Mr. P was indifferent toward me, I explained that he was intellectual, thus making him seem aloof. When my family mentioned he didn’t seem to have a sense of humor, I laughed and pointed out that political humor was an acquired taste. Meanwhile, my Jerry Lewis and “I Love Lucy” collection remained in storage. When I woke up from a nap during one of Mr. P’s conversations, I chalked it up to the side effects of allergy medicine.
One night, after rocking out at a music festival, I came home to find him weeping on the couch, watching the History Channel. That incompatibility box popped up loud and clear, but I promptly shut it down. I sat next to him, running my fingers through his hair and wondering what kind of mind rested underneath that scalp. Was it a mind I would ever understand? I felt exhausted.
I had mistaken compatibility for adaptability and compromise -- both useful relationship tools, but not when used to mask the obvious: It’s not a match. Even for the emotionally based, the logic of compatibility simply wins out over the ever popular, martyr cousin, compromise. It’s just easier to go for
the long haul when your side-
kick mirrors your needs, wants and desires.
In the romantic legend of “Opposites Attract,” Mr. P and I would be picking out rings. But my intuition insisted that the time had come to step out from behind the firewall and admit I was wrong.
He is not Mr. Potential, not for me anyway. He belongs to a lovely collegiate, a political history major who wears little makeup and has never seen the inside of a comedy club. They will stroll, arm in arm, wearing matching cardigan sweaters, marveling at scientific objects found along the way. They will pass me, speeding down the road, remnants of lunch on my T-shirt, my hair escaping through the sunroof on my way to an obnoxiously loud event.
I reboot the computer. It’s still crashing, so I pick up the phone and call my brother, the Computer Superhero. He explains that I can backdate the computer’s files to their previous settings and it will assume this download never happened.
“Time travel in computers? Oh, that’s really good news,” I say. “No need to bring up the compatibility issue if I can just erase the whole relationship.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
“Just a goofy metaphor,” I explain.
