Mismatch

by Madeleine Kando

The meaning of ‘mismatch is when two objects or people do not go together. A “mismatch” is when something fits like ‘a square peg in a round hole’. In French you say ‘like a fish out of water’ (comme un poisson hors de l’eau). The Spanish say: ‘to feel like a chicken in a strange farmyard’ (sentirse como gallina en corral ajeno).

This applies to many aspects of my own life. Take my physical body for instance. I live in New England where temperatures go way down in the winter. My brain fits right into this cold, harsh climate: I think better when it’s cold. But my body is the one that protests. Trying to keep my fingers from turning blue is a daily struggle, not to mention the amount of time it takes to get dressed in the morning. I lived in Spain for a while where the climate is like a gift from God. The olives, tomatoes and avocadoes like living there too: they just taste so much better there. But in Spain my brain cells slowed down to a crawl. It was as if they had lost the need to try to keep warm and just mulled along, doing the least amount of work possible.

Yes, I am lucky to live in a cold climate. The price I pay are purple lips and frozen toes.

The ‘Anglo-Saxon culture’ I both grew up in and have emigrated to also fits my temperament. My hands and feet yearn for more circulation and they would be happier in a mediterranean environment, but being surrounded by happy-go-lucky, warm-hearted people, singing and dancing all the time, not to mention wasting the most important part of the day by taking a siesta, did not appeal to my brain.

Mismatches can take on many forms, you know. I am quite tall for a woman, but my dog is a midget, even in dog terms. During our daily walk in the local forest, I always feel self-conscious, realizing that we do not quite fit, me and my miniature dog. Especially when she wears her fur coat (it being New England and all). She, looking like Zaza Gabor, me looking like a lumberjack.

A guaranteed way to invite ‘mismatch trouble’ is to move away from the place where you were born. Luckily I was small enough to fit practically anywhere when we left Hungary. So onwards I hurled, from France to Holland, from Holland to England via Spain, eventually landing in the United States. By then I had grown big enough to withstand the inevitable bounces one experiences every time one lands on foreign soil.

Sometime I fantasize living in another era. I look at the faded photographs of my grandmother, her hair all done up like an elaborate puff pastry, her dress accentuating the bosom and the derriere and I think to myself: ‘Am I living in the wrong century? I could have been her, a suffragette, fighting for a clear, self-evident cause.’

Marriage is another area where mismatches are often more the rule than the exception. It is not surprising, because marrying the right person is like trying to fit a multi-dimensional square in a multi-dimensional hole. After all, humans are incredibly complex and if one of their dimensions fits, another one is sure to be mismatched.

What about being mismatched as a species? Would I be happier as a fish? Or a horse? I look at my miniature dog, blissfully sleeping on my couch most of the day; the birds outside my window, and wonder if maybe I missed the boat at birth. Who decided that I would become a human? Not me.

Should I have become a Republican? Would I be happier if not even a hundred ton tank could dislodge my conviction that my political views are right?

What about countries? Most of them evolve organically and have no choice in where they are located. But every once in a while a nation is created and decides where it will settle. Did the Zionist founding fathers make a mistake by choosing to settle Israel in the Middle East? It sure feels like Israel fits in its environment like a square peg in a round hole.

What about the way I look? Maybe I should have been a better match looking like Tom Brokaw or Bruce Springsteen. I wouldn't be a woman then, but hey, not everyone is perfect. leave comment here