The Soul Mate Myth

When looking for the one, are we aiming too high?

I'll readily admit that when a friend of mine began dating Ken, I was a bit jealous. Her declaration that she had without a doubt found her soul mate had me thinking twice about my own boyfriend at the time. Was he my soul mate? Ultimately, I determined he wasn't; something was missing between us. After almost three years of dating, we broke up. Eventually, my friend and Ken ended things, too, and not amicably. Turns out they weren't soul mates after all; in fact, they couldn't stand each other.

What does it mean to be someone's soul mate, anyway? The term is thrown around as if its meaning is certain. To me, though, it's always been a somewhat baffling concept. Does it mean that two people are a perfect fit from the get-go? In what ways? Are there never any disappointments with someone who is your soul mate, so that loving him or her is always easy? Are you supposed to have some deep, unspeakable understanding of each other? Can you have more than one soul mate?

At a recent bachelorette party, several friends and I discussed the subject. When it came to defining the term "soul mate," the unattached women believed in a more idealized explanation. "That one person who understands you, emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, and physically," a newly single friend commented. Attempting to knock some sense into the single attendees, the married ladies maintained that the existence of soul mates is beside the point, arguing that it's near impossible to maintain any kind of soul mate connection when you're being woken up every hour by a screaming newborn, or when you're not having sex because you're too stressed trying to figure out how to pay the mortgage. Ah, the distilled wisdom of married folk!

Still, the soul mate ideal is a very powerful illusion not likely to be shattered easily. My own indoctrination began in childhood, when I was exposed to the intoxicating romances of gals like Cinderella and Snow White, who both, despite the odds, ended up with their perfect princes. The fantasy continues to work its evil magic even in adulthood in movies like The Notebook and TV shows like Sex and the City, which promulgate the notion that perfectly good relationships aren't good enough, because there's someone better out there who can give us a sort of endless stirring of the heart and psyche that can only be found in the arms of a soul mate.

I, too, then should hold out for my Prince Charming, my Mr. Big, I tell myself. I should not settle. I wait anxiously for the day when I can triumphantly proclaim, "I met my soul mate," because then I will know that I have made the right decision. But I have no idea what I'm searching for; the only thing I have to hold on to is a fuzzy, obscure definition that always seems to lead to disappointment. Too often, I forgo rational thought and loving relationships in the heady pursuit of some elusive connection that probably doesn't exist.

Now single again, I've had to reacquaint myself with the dating scene. I had forgotten how difficult it is to date, and how rare it is to find someone with whom you connect at all, let alone your soul mate. Was it worth breaking up with my ex because of that missing something, or should I have settled down with a perfectly good man and worked on the parts of us that were broken? Not a day goes by that I don't wonder about the answer to this question and that I don't struggle to reconcile my childhood fantasy of love and romance with a more mature reality. Mirror, mirror, why didn't you tell me it would be this complicated?

I'm not sure I want to believe in soul mates anymore, at least not as I've understood the concept all these years, because, quite frankly, it's caused me far more confusion than comfort. The notion is too claustrophobic, burdensome.

But perhaps there's another way of looking at a soul mate. Perhaps it has less to do with meeting someone who just is your soul mate and more about becoming someone's soul mate after the credits roll and the storybook closes, when the real test -- the screaming newborn and the mortgage and the lack of sex -- of a relationship begins.

Neely Steinberg is a freelance writer living in Boston. Send comments to coupling@globe.com.