Everyday Stranger

Compromise

A relationship is about constant compromise, evaluation, and acceptance that instead of the wants and desires of one person, there is another person that you must constantly be aware of, be thinking of, be taking into consideration.

And not just on the big issues-marriage, children (more on that one another day), and where to spend Christmas.

Oh no. I am referring to hobbies and interests.

That's where compromise really kicks in.

In some ways it's a bit easier to compromise on the bigger issues-we can live in this village, we can spend Christmas with your family, we can discuss children in an open manner. It's the little ones the require you to be vigilant. To know when you can make fun of something and when you can't. To know that you may spend several hours of your life in complete bored misery.

I'm talking about interests, basically.

If I were to define my interests, I would say that I like to pass my spare time reading, writing, cooking, or watching movies. Mr. Y's hobbies and fascinations include cooking (he makes a hell of a curry), lighting fixtures, electricity, bar codes and train stations.

In other words, the biggest hobby we have in common (besides a wild romp in the bed) is cooking.

Obviously, compromise is needed here.

I don't expect people to like and want the same things in terms of pasttimes-in fact, I think that's pretty boring. It's nice to learn something new from the cast of characters that life awards you. To use psychobabble, it's great to "broaden the horizons". But sometimes the horizons don't even match up.

On Friday nights, I want to have some monkey loving and then turn on the TV. I admit it. I want to eat pizza, drink beer, and watch "Friends" and "Will and Grace". It's my one salute to American TV that I still watch, and I love this little tradition. For Mr. Y, it means one hour of complete boredom. He doesn't see the point of the shows (and, rapidly, neither do I) and he likes to spend his time sliding into the living room in his socks, his arms outstretched a la Joey from "Friends" and expecting the laugh track to kick in.

Or with blogging. Although he reads my page daily, he's not interested in blogging. He doesn't really see the attraction or the point-he would rather have his fingernails removed than spend time writing, and that's ok-I never expected him to do so.

And in return I am trying to learn about his hobbies. The other night he spent hours looking up lighting websites to design the lights for our new place. He's decided it's going to be LED lights in the kitchen, and he was very excited about the sites he'd found. I read one over his shoulder, but it was like reading Greek. I didn't even understand half of the terms.

It's the same thing with what interests us on TV. Show me a documentary about the rate of social change within the Victorian era, and I'm yours. Show him an episode of "Top Gear", and he's eating out of your hand.

The other day, I had a thought. We drove by a power plant, and it occured to me that I actually didn't know how one worked. I asked Mr. Y about it.

"Well, you do know how electricity works, right?" he asked, one hand on the wheel.

Hmm. You've got me there. "You flick the switch, and voila!" I said, waving my hands about.

He looked at me in horror.

"Or, you walk on the carpet in stockinged feet!" I tried feebly, losing the hand waving.

His mouth dropped open in horror.

"Tie a key to a kite?" I asked meekly, hands firmly in lap.

It had honestly just never occured to me. I'm not interested in electricity. I don't really care where it comes from, as long as when I flick the switch on the wall I am immediately rewarded by a soothing glow of electric love.

I got an explanation.

I think I get it now.

It's the same if I try to explain something about history. I love history and philosophy, but perhaps we love different eras of it. I read "The Da Vinci Code", and absolutely loved the symbology that it detailed. When telling Mr. Y about it, it was amusing to watch how far his eyeballs rolled into his head in bordeom. Walking around Culloden in Scotland, it was pretty clear that I was the only one of us interested in history past the last 100 years.

"Did you know that this was the last battle of the clans? That this is where the Scottish clan, as it was known, met its death?" I asked, hopping around the heather in buzzing historical excitment.

"Mmm." he replied, grimacing.

"And did you know that the Scottish forces, having previously actually taken parts of England, marched to this spot in the freezing cold, starving and dying of thirst, before they were devestated by the English army."

"Really." came the reply, forced interest firmly in place.

He tried to explain American power supply versus English power supply the other night in bed. Ordinarily, I would've tried to be a good pupil, but having been plied with copious amounts of wine, I was not in great shape for absorbing info. He explained it in detail, me waving in and out of booze-soaked naked consciousness. At the end, he asked:

"So what's the advantage of American power supply versus English power supply?"

Oh shit. I'm being quizzed. I rack my brain.

"Um....it doesn't hurt as much if you step on the plug in the middle of the night?"

Needless to say, that was the wrong answer.

You see? It's just a matter of interests.

But to be fair, he is kind about giving me space on my hobbies. He comes up with ideas for my blog. He suggests documentaries on TV that might be something I like. In return, I am getting to know his hobbies. We both like to read books about dis-used tube stations, and history books about "the Toubles". I like the lighting designs he comes up with, and want him to outfit our new place with his ideas. I guess this is part of what a relationship is about-you take what interests you and try to link it together, sometimes you have to give, sometimes you have to take. I know he may never like to write, but I at least want to try to get him into a movie theatre from time to time. In return, I will pay attention and learn about electricity. Train stations. Lighting.

But I draw the line at bar codes.

-H

PS-I love Ilyka, too.

PPS-I need some assistance. I think it's time to change my headline up at the top, the skitsy girl is beginning to get on my nerves. Anyone with an example or suggestion is welcome to email me with it, since I am pretty hopeless at coming up with an idea. Mail to: everydaystranger (at) btconnect (dot) com.

PPPS-Yup, it's official. Mr. Y and I are moving into Whitney Houston. :)

Posted by Everydaystranger at May 21, 2004 09:23 AM | TrackBack