Being a hopeless romantic in a hook up culture

Being a hopeless romantic is indeed a special kind of hell. In my world, love is greater than pride. A love that doesn’t have a few obstacles to overcome, that does not carry with it a promise of some grandeur filled tale, is not really love. I think it might be a side-effect of being a highly imaginative person. A million ages ago when I found myself involved in creative writing and poetry, I should have known that I was bound to grow up a hopeless anomaly in a world that does not seem to value this awesome trait.

In my head I am still uncertain over the idea of ‘the one‘ versus ‘the one for now‘. May be that is just my logical and now PhD qualified critical thinking stopping my imagination from going completely overboard and eloping with my idealistic brain in Vegas. Before my hopelessness appears too irrational, I must confirm that I never bought into the idea of the ‘fairy tale prince‘ that most of my girlfriends seem to have had their hearts set on but this inability to be cheesy never stopped my heart from feeling dystopian disappointment. Hopelessness in my mind is something else. Hopelessness is what makes me feel like a disgusting judgemental human while browsing through the online dating catalogues. How can a human be judged based on a photo? I’m sure each one of those men have amazing life stories, rich with experiences that are as real as mine, then what gives me the right to discard them? If we met in a real life, I’m sure I’d give them enough time to at-least make a first impression that I could remember them by, good or bad.

I am unsure as to when hopeless romanticism went out of fashion. The idea of experiencing the first spark, the slow build up of a promising tale that might leave an essence of the other person etched into your existence for a life-time; that is beautiful to me. Being on a magical planet that is alive in this vast melancholic and lonely darkness of the universe makes me wonder why we treat others like objects that can be used and discarded, sometimes reused only to be discarded again?  How ridiculously infinitesimal is our existence in the greatness of the Universe, yet we somehow manage to go by living our lives, never spending any moments experiencing the awe! Has the human experience of being enthralled by another’s presence just lost its appeal through evolution? I’m sure evolution couldn’t give two shits about romance as long as someone was getting fucked to make more humans, but we surely must be a slightly more evolved bunch given that we appreciate the joys of a closely connected human community. If we feel we are entitled to be loved, held and encouraged, then why do we not extend this affection to the other?

I think kindness, compassion and respect for another’s life experience feed the fires of my hopelessness (along with music and films!). I like the idea of having all my senses stimulated by a mutual spark, to feel one with the Universe through the love I experience through my body and may be my consciousness even. The problem arises when these hopes meet with reality and wither away. Disappointment is a certain when you walk out into the world with such idealistic expectations. I don’t want to be saved nor do I want to save anyone. I don’t even ever want to ‘need‘ anyone. I think ‘wanting‘ is far more powerful than the desperate ‘needing‘. Wanting comes from a place of unconditional love where you don’t feel the need to own, possess or feel any insecurities that make you want to control or change another. If we could honestly confront our inner demons instead of choosing low insecure behaviours, protect each other and encourage each other to be the best, that will be my ideal love story filled with the struggle of overcoming obstacles.

Hopeless romanticism gives me outstanding patience, even if the world tells me that any amount of patience=putting up with bad behaviour. As a behaviour scientist I am capable of distinguishing between behaviours and even understanding motivations behind those behaviours. Calling it quits on every minor issue and then setting out to seek revenge is not my story. I am in it for the long, tiresome run and if it ends, I’d personally prefer it to end with compassion, forgiveness and love. Love has to be greater than pride. However, I do realise that hopelessness might be a slippery slope to find yourself trapped in abusive situations but if you keep your wits about it, I doubt hopelessness will leave you with anything than the standard broken heart that will take much longer to heal when you compare it to other people’s heart breaks! But thats OK. People like us, we will be OK!

As a hopeless romantic it might take me ages to get over disappointments, it might make me cynical for a while but I’d hardly ever act on that inner frustration; bad decision making is not my MO! I’ll still put my heart out there knowing very well that in this hook-up, low emotional involvement culture, it is bound to get damaged but if that pain of a broken heart didn’t run its wounded trail through my soul, I would be a very different and boring person. If I am alive by random probability on this planet that exists quite randomly in this magnificent bizarre Universe, then I’d rather be the one betting on that random chance occurrence than live a life that does not carry with it the potential of some grand hopeless romance.

The beautiful featured image is from Leonid Tishkov’s private moon-fairy tale of existence series.

What are the odds you exist?

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