My Love/Hate Relationship with Love: A Love Story

It’s Valentine’s Day and I find myself thinking analytically and way too much about Love. “Love is a many splendid thing,” right? “Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is Love”, correct? (and yes, I did recently watch Moulin Rouge, thank you). This season practically forces us to think about Love, whether we want to or not. If you’re married or in a committed/serious/mildly entertaining/kinda maybe sort of relationship, this holiday comes with its own challenges. But, for those of us who are single, this is the season of shaming (yes, more than Christmastime!). 

I cannot watch television or listen to the radio without being told how much of an utter failure I am for still being alone. Even during a global pandemic, there is no reprieve. Every Kay Jewelers commercial makes me want to tell them a few other words that start with “Kay.” Then there is the onslaught of memes on social media. All reminding me that, at 34, I’m officially nearing spinsterdom. They outline how, If I’m not careful, a 22-year-old with baggy jeans and a center part, who probably makes twice as much money as I do, will swoop in and steal my happy ending. When it comes to Love, I am really of two minds. I’m in Love with Love and all the googly-eyed mushy romanticism that comes with that, or I Hate Love, and I’m a cynical bitch. There is no middle ground.

In the beginning…

I am from the generation that had Disney fairy tales practically inserted into our brains. While the Mouse House has come far in the realm of female protagonists (see both Frozen’s, Brave, and Moana for reference), they really did a number on me. The idea of love at first sight and true love was so enticing I was sure it was going to happen for me. (Spoiler alert: still waiting).

Teen books and movies did not help anything. I was the shy best friend, the good girl who got the guy in the end cause he realized how great she was all along. My life was going to be a Taylor Swift song; I just knew it! As I got older and the more books I read, the more I was sure that’s what love was, some sort of mythical connection that just pulls two people together. Can you see now how it went so wrong for me?

In Love with Love

There are times where I just want to fall into a good love story and allow myself to believe that’s how life is going to work out. (Maybe it’s not too late for me, even now!). A few times a year, I look at my overflowing To Read bookcase and pick a straight-up romance. Sometimes it works out, like with Eligible by Curtis Sittenfeld. A retelling of Pride and Prejudice that was so good it gave more hope (like real hope) for the first time in a long time.

Jane was over 40, and Liz was pushing 38 which felt to me like a gift. If they can do it, so can I. When I get into these moods, I find myself appreciating the romance in all of the media I consume (seriously, how adorable are Callen and Anna on NCIS:LA). So if you’re looking for a book to reignite your passion for romance, go with Eligible; trust me, you won’t regret it.

When Love turns bitter

I don’t like saying it but I spend way more time in cynical bitch mode than hopeless romantic. Even the most well-crafted love stories feel artificial to me. This December, I finally committed to reading One Day in December (see what I did there?) by Josie Silver. The story follows two people who see each other through a bus window in 2008 and 10 years of friendship, loss, and love. The only thing that saved me was seeing these two characters get happily ever after in 2018 and evil laugh at all the shit the world was about to throw at them (hi COVID-19!). While I loved the characters and the story was interesting enough, I realized through this reading what the problem was with Love. It doesn’t exist! At least not in the way the media and art would have us believe.

Please don’t misunderstand me. Love is real, and I have much of it in my life (two amazing, incredible, supportive parents, family, and a load of kick-ass friends). But in this case, I’m talking specifically about romance. Perhaps that’s the better turn of phrase. I am disillusioned with the idea of romance and, pandemic aside, cannot see a scenario in which I meet someone’s eyes across a crowded bar, and that’s it! In all fairness, that’s how my awesome parents met, but it was a different time. 

Don’t worry this isn’t the end

Last week, I helped my mother clean out a bookshelf and picked up a battered old book. After reading the back out loud, I looked at my mom who said, “it’s a love story. Do you want to read it?” I responded, “I have a Love/Hate relationship with Love, and right now, I’m on hate”. So into the donate pile it went. Just matter-of-fact like there was no real concern over my hatred of love.

Because the reality is there is a lot that I Love. I love my family and friends and having new experiences (even while stuck at home), meeting new people, and the rededication to myself and this blog. I have so much work to do and so much joy to find in it that, maybe, I’m not as cynical as I thought. Don’t worry, I’m still not picking up Danielle Steel any time soon, but who knows…