The Myth of The One

Booth: You know, when I say heartbreaking you say the heart is a muscle, so it can’t break. It can only get crushed.

Brennan: Isn’t it heartcrushing?
Bones

Hearts are broken—crushed—every day. It’s been sung about, written about, spoken about. Every one of you reading this knows the feeling. It’s not a new sensation, curtesy of Facebook or Snapchat. Shakespeare writes of Enobarus (Antony and Cleopatra) and Lady Montague (Romeo and Juliet) both dying of broken hearts. Even King David writes of his broken heart in Psalm 69. It’s an ancient feeling and experienced almost universally: nearly every culture acknowledges the concept.

I don’t just mean heartbreak by a lover, mind you. Mothers, fathers, children, family members, friends can cause just as much heartbreak as a boyfriend or wife, sometimes more, because it is those we love who have the ability to cause us the greatest anguish and sorrow. We can break our own hearts if we love ourselves enough. But it doesn’t matter who or what the cause is; the experience is real and tangible. An ache in the chest where the heart beats. Stress of the mind. Inconsolable grief. Depression. Sometimes it’s more than the loss of love: it’s the loss of hope, the loss of joy, the loss of dreams. It is loss.

My heart has been broken again. I should be getting used to this by now, right? But I’m not writing today to express the heartbreak I feel or to talk about how to heal. I’m writing with a caution. It is a realization that came to me with a sharp shock this afternoon, one that caused me to scribble out the words I was writing at the moment to the point of shredding the paper. Let me tell you what happened.

My sweetheart broke my heart on Monday morning (via text, while I was at work; he’s seeing someone else … some might say good riddance). I’ve felt the twinges in my heart muscle, the loss of hopes and dreams, and the loneliness that usually follows. Friends and coworkers have offered condolences, advice, admonishment for my former lover, and well wishes. It is the well wishes you need to beware.

“You’ll meet someone who treats you right.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

“I want you to meet a nice boy.”

They seem harmless and they are well-meant. But they’re dangerous. A single someone, a nice boy, and, worst of all, something that is meant to be. We all want to meet that someone, that special person who we’re meant to be with. I was taken away with the thought, and in a manner of trying to heal my heart, I started to write him a note today.

You don’t know me and I don’t know you. I’m … looking for someone special to connect with. What about you? … I imagine you out there, and whatever you’re looking—

And that’s when I cut myself off and crossed out my words and cut the paper through to the page beneath it, thinking, “That’s how I got myself into all of this in the first place.” I was looking for The One … the one God had meant for me from the beginning of time.

I grew up in a world where divorce was against God’s will because we are to search and wait for The One meant for us and work through everything with that person to stay married forever. I left home and my church youth group for college with a delusional belief that there really was one special person out there whom God meant for me and me alone, and that I’d meet him and know he was The One and that he would too. I prayed for God to prepare him for me and me for him. We were encouraged to so because that would help us ensure a God-blessed, happy relationship in our futures.

Out of this upbringing I came and promptly fell into the arms of the man I thought was meant for me, despite our lack of shared interests and his judgment and his hurtful silent-treatment pouting whenever he didn’t get his way … oh, and the fact that he raped me. It’s okay; he’s The One. I married him in spite of horrible fights, traumatic shame, mistreatment of my body, and continued shaming. I felt lucky to have found The One so quickly and easily. He loved me so much, and he’d even dreamed of us getting married. God was truly guiding us.

No one once suggested we shouldn’t get married. I don’t know if it was complacency in the belief we’d each found The One or a matter of everyone minding their own business, but friends and family saw problems from the beginning and yet not a word was said. I don’t blame them. We’ve been fed this line of fiction all our lives. Even my parents have a messy, unhappy marriage, but have been together 40+ years. I believed in The One with all my heart … I believed in The One to a fault.

I know better now. “The One” is a myth, and I won’t be that blind again. God didn’t create me for my ex-husband or me for the man who broke my heart on Monday. He didn’t create me for anyone I’m about to meet either. The idea that there is someone out there looking for me, who God made for me is beautiful, but only fantasy. The concept of a soulmate is heartwarming and hopeful, but as wise as Plato was, I’m not sure I believe anymore.

It’s heartbreak versus fear in me right now. Heartbreak seeking hope that I won’t spend the rest of my life alone.

I want to love you. … Please find me. Look for me and don’t give up.

(I wrote that too; not twenty years ago, but yesterday. Old habits die hard, I guess.)

And fear that my beliefs could trap me in another life-draining relationship. I won’t go there again. I won’t be part of that. I won’t be the pawn of my religious upbringing, and I won’t believe the myth again. I won’t search for someone special. I will accept that he doesn’t exist, and I caution you to follow my example, whatever you believe. It’s harsh and it hurts, but trust me, please.

But think of it this way: there is no One. Not “one” doesn’t automatically mean zero; it could mean many. What if instead waiting for the one, you search for love. Go slow: take the time to know yourself and know what love is to you, and then look for it. You might love many, and your heart might get broken a lot. But you’ll always have new hope because you won’t meet the love of your life just once.

Sweets: Mm-hmm, perhaps you’re saying this because you’ve never met the love of your life.

Angela: I have, actually. Many times.

—Bones

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