UNNATURAL SELECTION- IS HE/SHE WAT U ALWAZ WANTED?

Number of posts : 18 Age : 35 Location : delhi Registration date : 2007-07-10

So what does it take to find out whose your mr/ mrs right or your partner is the best for you??

there
are times when u just sit and ponder over the thought of your
choice,the one u rilly wanted and what u still have....a choice only
your heart can make ....

Here
is a story which shows choices can go wrong big time.... n its ur
decision to choose the best because if you commit a mistake in
choosing the right u end up spoiling many lives altogether...so here it
goes..

THE IMPORTANCE OF YOUR CORRECT SELECTION!!!-

He wasn't my type. We
worked together, and he kept asking me to do things with him, in a
collegial sort of way. But when my friends asked if he might be a
romantic possibility, I assured them that he wasn’t my type at all. I
had always been attracted to powerful older men—the kind who charm the
pants off every woman they meet. You can imagine how well this worked
out for me.

But Jeremy was a peer. Instead of being a
generation older and far more successful than I, he was almost three
years younger and a fellow reporter for the same newspaper. I was used
to aggressive guys whose idea of a good time was hurtling down a black
diamond run. Jeremy was a bespectacled theater expert who had spent the
Vietnam War years as a conscientious objector teaching emotionally
disturbed children.

When I wore high heels, I was almost as
tall as he was—quite a change from my previous loves, most of whom
towered over me from formidable heights. Unfortunately, they were as
domineering emotionally as they were dominating physically, which was
one of several reasons I had sworn off men. But Jeremy was patient and
persistent; no matter how many invitations I declined, he didn’t take
offense and always tried
again.

As cultural news reporters,
we were both required to see the same plays, so we’d go together.
Afterward, starving, we’d go to dinner. Our conversations grew more
intimate. As the months rolled by, my friends became increasingly
suspicious: Jeremy again? Are you sure there’s nothing going on here?”
“Absolutely not,” I insisted. “He’s not my type at all.”

And,
if truth be told, I was pretty sure I wasn’t his type, either. His
previous wife was very short, dark, introverted, and Jewish. I am a
tall, blond, extroverted WASP. We were clearly not a match.

But I was 36 when I met him, and pretty soon I was 37. My biological
clock was making quite a racket. As for Jeremy, every time we passed a
baby in a stroller or saw a toddler at a restaurant, he was transfixed.
He really wanted to start a family, an issue that hadbeen a source of
conflict in his former marriage. “Do you want to have kids?” Jeremy
asked me late one night as we waited for our hamburgers at a 24-hour
diner.

“I would have loved to, but I’ve accepted the fact that
it’s probably never going to happen,” I said. “I’ve made my peace with
it.” He smiled understandingly—so understandingly that my eyes welled
with tears. Horrified, I acted as if there were something wrong with my
contact lenses.'

But Jeremy was always very kind. I had recently
gone into therapy (mostly to try to figure out why I had such
disastrous taste in men), and like a dope I had accepted an
earlymorning time slot. So I’d see my shrink, sob through my session,
and come to the office with mascara smeared all over my face. One
morning I arrived in particularly terrible shape, still weeping. Jeremy
materialized at my desk. He didn’t ask if I was all right; he knew
perfectly well that I wasn’t. “Go home,” he said firmly. “I’ll go tell
them you didn’t feel well. Just get out of here.”

I nodded
gratefully, took a cab to my apartment and fell into a deep, exhausted
sleep. The phone rang at 4 P.M. “Just checking up on you,” he said.
“How are you doing?”

“A little better,” I said, partly because
that’s what you’re supposed to say and partly because I suddenly
realized it was true: the simple fact that he had cared enough to call
made me feel at least a little bit comforted.

Then one day,
Jeremy asked me to go to a program at a theater a couple of blocks from
his apartment, which I had never visited. “Now you’re in for it,” said
my closest office friend, with unseemly glee. “He’ll ask youback to his
place, and then he’ll make a pass at you. What are you going to do?”
Jeremy did invite me to see his apartment, and he did make a pass. The
next day he asked me to marry him. Here’s where I have to admit that I
was a commitment-phobe myself. Stalling for escape clauses, I asked if
we could have a long engagement. “How long did you have in mind?” he
inquired.

“Maybe 10 years?” He shook his head calmly, still smiling that understanding smile. My eyes welled with tears again.

At our wedding, I was so terrified of getting married that I almost
fainted. Jeremy kept a steady grip on my elbow. Panicked, I kept
sneaking sideways looks at him and thinking desperately, “But he’s not
my type!”

By then, however, even I knew better—at least in my
saner moments. Like other men with whom I’d been involved, Jeremy was
smart, talented, and interesting. But unlike some of his predecessors,
he was also honest, trustworthy, and dependable. When I watched him
play with other people’s children, I knew what a wonderful father he
would be. He was calm and steady in a crisis, and I sensed that I would
be able to count on him as a husband, no matter what challenges arose.
He had a mature understanding of what commitment meant, and he wanted
it.

His kindness to me reflected the way he interacted with
the rest of the world. He’s the sort of guy who helps little old ladies
cross the street and graciously motions other drivers to cut in front
of him. Maybe he doesn’t arrive at every dinner party determined to
dazzle all the guests; he tends to speak up only if he actually has
something to say. When he does, his views are intelligent and humane,
often containing unexpected insights. When he feels comfortable with
people, he’s absolutely hilarious; his sense of humor is as wicked as
it is sly. Jeremy’s unpredictable flashes of wit still astonish me with
their inventiveness, even after 20 years of knowing him. And despite
the difference in our backgrounds, our values have proved compatible on
almost everything, including parenting.

Jeremy and I
celebrated our eighteenth wedding anniversary last summer; our children
are now 17 and 14. We share an apartment, a dog, a large mortgage, and
a life so intricately intertwined that I long ago ceased to be able to
imagine a separate existence. My heart still leaps every time I hear
his voice on the phone.

When I talk to younger friends, they
often tell me about men they’ve rejected after one date. “He’s not my
type,” they insist. “There was no chemistry.” If I urge them to keep an
open mind, they snort derisively and assure me that they know what
they’re talking about.

But I don’t believe them—the first
night I spent with Jeremy showed me that I knew approximately as much
about discerning chemistry as I do about nuclear physics— and I feel
sad for what they might be missing. There may well be such a thing as
love at first sight; I know people who claim to have experienced it,
although the ensuing relationships rarely lasted over the long haul.

And
when I think about my friends, I realize that every single one who’s in
a stable, longterm marriage is wed to a man she initially claimed was
not her type.

Now, it’s possible that my friends and I are
particularly obtuse. But I think perhaps there are other lessons here
as well. A successful relationship is the product of many factors;
compatibility is certainly one of them. But timing is equally critical.
You not only have to want the same things; you have to want them at the
same time. My boyfriend before Jeremy was an infamous womanizer. He was
in his forties when we met; a year and a half later, when I realized he
wasn’t remotely ready to settle down, I broke up with him. He was in
his sixties when he finally got married—to a woman half his age.

But
when I met Jeremy, we were at the same stage in life. So why didn’t I
recognize him as a kindred spirit? The fact that he didn’t match up
with my mental checklist of things I was looking for only goes to show
you how absurd such a checklist is in the first place. Love is
infinitely mysterious, and I’ve come to believe that the people you
respond to instantly are often the worst possible choices for a
long-term relationship.

Although many women still think of
falling in love as if it were the product of that mythical coup de
foudre, a bolt from the heavens that instantly illuminates the entire
landscape, that’s not my experience at all. To me, love is more like a
plant. When you scatter seeds in the earth, you never know which ones
are going to sprout. Some thrive while others die, but over time the
strong ones put down roots that will eventually support a plant: one
that may grow for years, or even decades. To me, a friendship that
grows deep roots long before it blossoms may ultimately become the
strongest foundation for a lasting love. For when it comes to love,
“you just never know,” my husband says. “Until you know.”

AT
THE END OF IT ALL IT ALL LIES IN UR HANDS EITHER MAKE IT OR JUST BREAK
IT AND GET HURT....CHOICES THATS WAT ALL ABOUT...THINK BOUT IT....
COMMENTS WELCMD...

Number of posts : 87 Age : 36 Location : kolkata Registration date : 2007-07-07

hey.. tanmay, nice one... i can relly identify wid thes story.... i hav a v similar kind of a story! exept its 2yrs thn 20!!!lol

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