My post about
Whoopi Goldberg’s reaction to the line “You had me at ‘hello’” from the film Jerry Maguire needs a correction. As I
was tidying my work area, I came across a note that made me realize I misquoted
Whoopi. The equally-iconic phrase from that movie that drives her nuts is “You
complete me.” Her point was that she doesn’t feel she needs someone else to
complete her.
I’m happy to have
uncovered my note for two reasons. One is that this explains my not being able
to remember exactly why the Whoopster didn’t like “You had me at ‘hello.’” My
memory may not be that bad after all. Another reason I’m glad is that it gives
me a topic for another post. What would
complete me?
I love my husband
and we have a great marriage but I don’t feel I need him to complete me. This
is a good thing, since lately he’s been wandering off to India for weeks at a
time. My cats went a long way toward completing me, which may be why it’s
lonely around here now that the last one has gone to the Rainbow Bridge. They
added a wonderful dimension to my life, and they filled it in many ways, but I never
felt they completed me.
After ruminating
on this for a few days, I concluded that much like “You had me at,” what would
complete me changes in different situations. For example, now that I’m once
again watching how much I eat and keeping a food journal, what would complete
me right this minute is a bowl of coconut almond ice cream.
My first car, a
1967 Volkswagon Beetle, probably completed me. Sigh. I had it for 18 years and
100,000 miles and we went on some great trips together. I’ve had three Honda
Accords since then. They get me from point A to point B and back. That’s about
it, although I do like the heated seats that came with my current Accord (bought
used; I didn’t go looking for that feature). These days I’d be inconvenienced without my car,
but it doesn’t complete me.
Female condo
owners who are enamored with their master bathroom suites might entertain the
notion that their Jacuzzi tubs complete them. I haven’t used ours yet and we’ve
been here almost six months. Actually, that’s not quite accurate. I just
haven’t used it as a Jacuzzi. I set up a collapsible clothes drying rack in the
middle of it. That’s where I drape laundry that I don’t want to put in the
dryer. It’s perfect for that: out of the way and I don’t have to worry about
water dripping on the floor.
Male readers
might have similar feelings about their Weber grills. We have one on our deck;
it came with the condo. As with the Jacuzzi, we haven’t used it yet. All I can
say about it thus far is that it complicated clearing the snow off the deck
this winter. It will have to go a long way this summer to redeem itself, much
less to complete me.
My writing
fulfills something within me—to a point. But complete me? Maybe if I had a
higher profile or more recognition. I doubt that would change things, since I
write for my own enjoyment and not for critical acclaim. I sometimes go for
days without writing anything. When it comes to completing me, you’d be smarter
to put your money on the Jacuzzi.
I spend a lot of
time on my computers in retirement. My desktop Mac is my preferred computer, but
my older Mac is also indispensable. That’s the one with the tower on the floor
and the ancient Sony monitor that Lily used to curl up on. It has Photoshop and
QuarkXPress (desktop publishing) software on it, but it’s no longer hooked up
to the Internet. My MacBook Air is highly portable, and I use it a lot for drafting
my essays, but it gives me kinks in my neck. So none of these toys can claim to
complete me.
Perhaps that’s a
good thing. When we reach a point where we feel complete, doesn’t that mean
we’re finished? Nothing left to do or pursue? No more dreams to chase after?
When I think
about how much I use all my computers, I feel like I’ve come full circle. My
first job out of college was programming mainframes in basic assembler
language. I’ve made many stops from there to here, each one contributing a
piece to the person I am today. This makes me realize that I know how to fill
in that blank after all.
The journey
completes me.
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