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Fork in the Road

The eternal struggle between heart and head would be a lot easier if I just knew which one was supposed to win.

by Natalie
posted on November 30, 2006

If I had a quarter for every time someone told me to “trust my gut,” I’d never have to pester Jim at the corner market to change my dollars for laundry money again. Recently, however, I’ve been getting the feeling that, like the Olsen twins’ fashions for Wal-Mart, the line’s popularity doesn’t necessarily mean it’s field-tested by those who endorse it.

My reason for this preach-not-practice allegation can be traced back to a guy I’ve been seeing by the name of Charlie. Things with Charlie had been bumpy from the start: He’d come on so strongly on the first date that my instincts had directed me to the exit almost immediately. My friends, however, urged me to give Charlie a second chance, reasoning that it was high time I instituted a pass/fail approach to dating. Rather than meticulously grade every aspect of the evening, they opined, I should see Charlie again based on the fact that his overall score was above average.

Much to my surprise, Charlie’s grades (were I to assign him any) continued to improve. He mellowed—after a less-than-subtle hint from me—and as a result we’d begun seeing each other regularly. But despite the fact that Charlie was my most promising candidate in a long time (intelligent, funny, attractive and well mannered), I still couldn’t shake the feeling that he just wasn’t for me. My gut told me that the elusive connection was missing, and to my way of thinking, that was cause for automatic failure.

“It’s way too soon to judge his ‘the oneness,’” Jules said when I presented my case to the girls over dinner at Poleng Lounge. “A friend of mine was dating this guy that she totally wasn’t into at first—terrible kisser, etc.—but then things clicked, and now they’re married and having amazing sex.”

“That’s an urban myth,” Sia said dismissively. “Once a bad kisser, always a bad kisser. She probably just settled.”

“Not true!” Jules protested. “People change as you get to know them. Just because you don’t feel that connection now doesn’t mean you won’t eventually.”

“But with every serious boyfriend I’ve had in the past, regardless of other misgivings, I’ve always had that gut feeling in the beginning,” I reminded them.

“Oh, well, in that case, trust your gut,” Sia teased. “Because things with those other guys clearly worked out.”

She had a point. Why was I so loyal to this gut of mine when in the past it had acted like the boy who cried wolf? Could it be that there was actually something to this push-through-it mentality? Maybe my relationship with Charlie would turn out the way things had with yoga: unnatural-feeling in the beginning, but eventually the key to a happier, more well-adjusted life.

I flew down to L.A. Friday night for my parents’ anniversary dinner. I decided to put off any hasty action until after I’d had a chance to mull things over—the familiar sights and smells of my mom’s kitchen made any problem seem infinitely easier to tackle. But before I had even set foot in my parents’ place, my dilemma unexpectedly became dinner’s main attraction. Prompted by my brother-in-law’s inevitable “Seeing anyone special?” inquiry, I chose to answer honestly: that I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t really sure. At once, every conversation around the table ceased. I was suddenly the keynote speaker addressing my entire family—and it was question-and-answer time.

“Remember when I completely panicked the day before my wedding because my gut was telling me it was wrong and that I was afraid our relationship wasn’t passionate enough?” my sister asked aloud, to the mild dismay of her husband. “Well, obviously, it wasn’t my gut, Nat. It was fear. Maybe this guy has major potential, and that scares you. Maybe you’re misinterpreting fear as a gut feeling.”

The table’s focus shifted from my sister back to me, à la Wimbledon. While I paused to consider her suggestion, another witness, my grandmother, volunteered to testify. “When I first met your grandpa, I thought he was an arrogant jerk,” she said matter-of-factly. “But he finally wore me down, and by the time I realized what had happened I was in love with him and we were engaged.”

I was thrown by the knowledge that the union with the most longevity in my life was the result of a sneak attack. “But there had to be some strong feeling that drew you to each other, right?” I asked. “I don’t think I’m afraid. I think I’m indifferent, and that concerns me.”

“That’s how I was with your uncle Mark,” Aunt Catherine chimed in. “In fact, I was in love with his best friend, Dan, who had just dumped me. I was only dating him to get back at the other guy.” An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Sadly, we’d heard the Dan story too many times—Catherine and Mark’s relationship was far from storybook. I mentally allotted a point to Team Gut. I shot my mom a “do something” look, eager to distract from the Debbie Downerness of Catherine and Mark. “You know, sweetie, I’ve always told you to trust your instincts,” she said. “But you have to give people a chance to grow on you.”

When did everyone agree on head over heart? I wasn’t naively wed to the idea of love at first sight, but neither was I ready to let go of the idea of a chemical reaction—a physical recognition of another person, rather than a willingness to grow accustomed to them. Still, the stories of the relationships that had evolved over time confused me. These weren’t people who wound up together out of desperation; they ended up clicking in a real way. And then there were the Catherines and Marks. Although my relatives intended to offer hope and clarity, their depositions only confused me more. Everyone looked to me expectantly, as if I were the princess at Medieval Times, about to reward the purveyor of the most helpful anecdote with a rose. “Let’s change the topic,” I said, turning to my sister. “So, when are you two having kids?”

That night I lay awake, consumed with thoughts of my gut. I tiptoed downstairs for a cup of tea and ran into my sister, who was paging through an old photo album. “That was a low blow, Nat,” she said. “Your little baby bait and switch.” I smiled. “I was desperate. I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you’ll be when you look at these prom pictures,” she giggled. I peered over her shoulder to admire the shot of me, proudly modeling a hideous teal silk-organza dress. “There was no talking you out of that beauty—you were in love,” she said, before asking the question she knew was on my mind. “Still trust that gut?” Good point. If I couldn’t even trust this elusive “gut” with a prom dress, could I trust it with my romantic destiny? I’ve never been a particularly religious person, and suddenly it seemed there was yet another higher power with a three-letter name beginning with “G” whose existence I was beginning to question.

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