Ockham's Razor gives a lesson in relationship simplification
ArtisHENDERSON sandydays@florida-weekly.com
In the 14th century, a Franciscan friar by the name of William of Ockham left his mark on the world of philosophy. The brown-cowled monk who was eventually excommunicated and died of the black plague in 1347 is best known for Ockham's Razor, which in essence says, "All things being equal, the simplest solution is the best."

I know that the Franciscans take vows of poverty and chastity, but I have to hand it to William for coming up with such a datingapplicable theorem. From what I've witnessed in the world of romance (and, trust me, I've seen a lot), people are quick to complicate things when, ultimately, the simplest solution is the best.

Take for instance, my own foray into the complex world of cross-cultural dating. Intrigued by the thrill of a foreign affair, I found myself wound in a complicated but exhilarating relationship with a man from outside the U.S.

"Hitesh" was born in Southeast Asia and had lived in three countries by the time he was 15. The son of wealthy ex-patriots, he spoke several languages and could navigate a Michelin threestar restaurant with finesse.

Initially, our differences were intriguing: I liked introducing him to grits and raw oysters, and he indulged me when I asked how to pronounce things in Hindi.

"It's called nimbu pani," he said, talking about a lime and soda water mixture I had discovered in India. "You add salt and sugar."

His friends, too, were enthralling. An international blend of bankers and attorneys, they spoke a mix of languages that rarely included English. I was impressed by the cool foreignness of it, but never felt entirely at ease. At a dinner party, someone slipped a Johnny Cash CD into the player, and my heart lifted at the familiar chords and smoky voice. Hitesh's friends sang along to the music, drowning out Cash's twang with their European accents.

Over time, the differences wore on us and the things that once fueled our curiosity became heavy and cumbersome.

"How's Arun doing?" I asked one evening, Arun, his roommate, being a sort of neutral common ground.

"It's Ar-un," he said. "You always pronounce it Aaron, like an American."

That's because I am American, I thought.

That night, I got a call from an old friend, Steve. Steve had grown up in Pensacola, and I knew him when I lived in Tallahassee. We shared a love for all things Floridian and a common sense for life south of the Mason-Dixon.

"How you been?" he asked. "Did you catch any damage from that cold front last week?"

"A little," I said. "It hurt some of the local citrus growers pretty bad. I know they had a hard freeze inland, up around Okeechobee."

"Yeah, I hear you. Some people up here were trying to tell me that cold is good for citrus, but I'm like...."

"Not if it's freezing," I said. We both laughed.

It felt easy, that sort of communication; I liked not having to explain the subtext. In my time with Hitesh, I'd forgotten that things in a relationship don't have to be complicated. As a matter of fact, they're better off simplified. If Franciscan friars could dole out relationship advice, William of Ockham would definitely have agreed.

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