A humorous realization brought home to me by Star Trek

Yesterday I went to see the new movie. I'm kind of in love with the origin stories that many of the franchises have been producing over the past ten or so years (with the significant exception of Star Wars, although I tip my hat to it for generating the trend); origin myths have always held me in thrall; and the new Star Trek proved itself, wonderfully, no exception.

I grew up on Star Trek, mostly The Next Generation, though interspersed, of course, with the original series and the first movies, so I'm a Trekkie born and bred. I retain enough dignity not to deck myself out in costumery of any kind -- not my scene -- but I love the characters, love the stories, love the imagination and the smidgets of science. Every week with my parents and my sister I sat on the couch balancing a plate on my lap, thrilling to Patrick Stewart's voice intoning, "Space: the final frontier." My childhood onscreen crush was Wil Wheaton, I wore my 80s headbands over my eyes to mimick Jordie's visor, and I rewrote most of the storylines in my head to incorporate myself into the scripts.

So of course I've been uncontainably excited for the release of the new film, and last night, watching Kirk and Spok and McCoy and Scottie yell at each other through moments of epic action, I sat up and started laughing. Because I realized that, as swaggering and boyish and incorrigible and charming as Kirk is, I've never been all that interested in him. Nope, my teenaged girl heart surged for Spok -- ten years later, still does. And, as I outgrew Wesley Crusher, for Data.

Yes, I know; I've revealed my shameless and hopeless inner geek to the blogosphere, and you may laugh at my expense, dear readers. I remain, however, sheepishly unapologetic. Evidently I'm overwhelmingly attracted to highly intelligent, ethical (and, in Spok's case, sardonic), rational, relatively unemotive men whose emotions run deep but generally undetected. In my girlhood dreams of these characters I didn't want to make them more emotive; I just wanted them to know that I understood them, so that they could freely be themselves. In return they provided me with a calm and mental orderliness that more emotive people usually can't give, and they let me be emotional.

Pointy ears and slanty brows, and dead white skin and yellow eyes, are in short supply among the human race. But the impulse to understand, and to be tolerated, drives my closest friendships. With Hillori, my sister and John (all Rationals...and I rather think that Meg is one, too), there's a deep symbiosis that mutually sustains, and, in my case anyway, delights. Fortunately the benefit of interacting with humans (as opposed to half-aliens and androids) is a liberal dose of humor and lightheartedness, in addition to the reciprocal love-and-let-live.

The realization made me happy. With my Rational friends I feel safe. Even in the moments when they're overwhelmed by unfamiliar surges of emotion, I don't feel overtaxed; on the contrary, I come into my element, which I know they appreciate (I love fostering understanding, whether or the self or of other people or of abstract concepts); I also know that when the dust settles they'll feel themselves again -- in other words, they won't become a drain on my resources, because it's not in their natures. And in the moments when I'm overwhelmed by emotions which I understand perfectly well but cannot order, the grounding they give me offers inexpressible relief to my buffeted soul -- and, because I'm a reasonable person myself, they know I'm not always insane, and take me in their stride. So the give-and-take of a healthy relationship moves almost effortlessly between my Idealist self and my Rational friends.

Understanding, balance, appreciation and respect: an ideal combination that proves that sometimes, life functions exactly as it ought to.

Yay for loving and being loved. Yay for introspection born of Star Trek. And yay for Spok.