On Romantic Love

I was never the sappy sort.  I was never much of a romantic.  I desperately wanted to believe in the whole white knight in shining armor thing, but it always seemed a bit too absurd for me.  And let's face it--I've never been the damsel in distress type.

Sure, I went through that phase all teenage girls go through--you know the one, the one where you convince yourself that every minor infatuation is true love and no truer love could possibly exist for you until the next infatuation pops into your life.

But I did fall in love eventually. I fell in love once, as all teenagers must.  I fell in love with a blond haired boy with the bluest blue eyes I'd ever seen.  And I watched this boy turn into a young man, and I loved him still.  I loved him in that all encompassing way teenagers love.  I was a girl, really, but I loved him all the same.  And then when I was 18 and he was 21 this first love of mine died.  He was ever so rudely ripped from this world, and my heart tore itself in two with the loss.  

And after that I threw romantic love away. I gave up on it. I decided as much pain as it had wrought me, it must be a truly useless emotion. I never again considered the idea of soul mates or "the one" as actual possibilities.  Instead, I convinced myself that these were silly notions for silly people and no such thing could ever exist in any productive, good for you sort of way.  I believed quite wholeheartedly that the only real, grown-up love that existed was a love born of mutual affection for one another and perhaps friendship, but passion or anything like it was simply unnecessary and would only lead to wholly preventable heartache.

This belief system was truly the folly of my young adult life.  Or perhaps the folly was clinging so stubbornly to such a ridiculous idea of what love must be.  In any case, it led me to make stupid decisions.

Then, quite suddenly, or perhaps, not suddenly enough, I once again found myself feeling a love as all encompassing and complete as the love I had felt once, long, long ago, for the boy-turned-young-man who had died far too soon. 

I was faced with the raw fact that no matter what utter codswallop I had been feeding myself for 10 years about "choosing" to love the "right person" (i.e. logical and practical person), one simply does not "choose" to love someone romantically.  You either do or you do not.  There is no choice.  When the person is actually the "right" person for you, you are left with no choice but to love them--with all you've got and with every breath you take, no matter how you fight it. 

I fell in love, ever so madly, with a man I had been friends with for at least 14 years, the man I am now married to.  I fell in love with him even as I tried not to.  I fell in love with him even as I denied it was happening. I fell in love with him even as I insisted to myself that love like this was not practical and would only prove harmful.  I fell in love despite my protestations and fear, and there was fear.  I fell in love all the same.  

And then I had to admit it to myself.  I had to admit that all the things I thought I knew about love were wrong and that perhaps, as silly as I'd always believed it to be, soul mates were very real.  I had to admit it because I'd just found mine, my soul mate, in a man I'd called friend for over a decade.  

My husband is the answer to a question I never even knew I had.  He is the kindest, most patient man I've ever met.  He balances me, and yes he really does make me more whole, somehow, than I ever was before. 

I now fully believe in soul mates, and I believe there is a "one" out there just for you--whomever you are.  I believe it as I never allowed myself to believe it before because I was lucky enough to find mine, and I found him right under my nose, where he'd been all along.