Several months back, I spent a fair amount of time (arguably too much) thinking about the right sort of dog to get, should I decide to get a dog. As I don’t suspect I’ll be so doing at any point in the near future, that may seem an odd line of pursuit. But, to be honest, it was a question that had plagued me since moving to New York; if nearly all dog-owning New Yorkers look eerily like their dogs, was there a sort of dog that looked like me? More importantly, was I supposed to find a dog I looked like to begin with, or to find one somewhat similar and then hope it or I would evolve towards the other over time, until, perhaps, our relative appearances met in the middle, somewhere between where we both began.

Recently, however, I’ve begun to think the same rule also applies to people in relationships. Not necessarily that couples begin to look like each other (though, certainly, they sometimes do, especially if stooping to the faux pas of all faux pas: matching outfits), but that, over time, people become increasingly similar, in terms of interests, opinions and activities, to their significant others. A quick review of relationships past certainly bears the theory out at least in my own life. From swing dance to indie rock, socialist political views to dubious mental health, I’ve been swayed in all sorts of directions by girlfriends. And while some of the changes were rather temporary (leaving me, post-breakup, thinking things like: “you know, I’m much more of an indoor person than the last six months of hiking might have led me to believe.”), others have stuck with me permanently.

Which, with a handful of dates on the immediate horizon, is sort of a scary thought. Not only am I now looking for a girl I like, a girl who likes me, a girl with whom I can imagine a shared future, but also a girl who evolving towards over the course of a relationship won’t leave me scarred for life.