Hopeless Romantic
The term hopeless romantic is an oxymoron to define one who believes in fairytale endings and loves the idea of being in love. There is a perfect person for everyone; all you have to do is wait to be swept off your feet as you wait for your true love to arrive. A search on oprah.com led me to a list of character traits to depict one who is a hopeless romantic. One that stood out to me is #7: sees the good in everyone. As one who tends to see the good, the bad, and the ugly in everyone, I would be more apt to define myself as a hopeless empath whose good intentions have bitten her in the ass more than once. In the grocery list of traits, Winfrey’s relationship expert also states #9: “they [hopeless romantics] tend to have trouble forging long-term relationships.” Anybody who knew me from roughly 1989 to 1998 knows how true this is.
I cannot say I accrued a wealth of experience dating in high school. A healthy supply of classic and modern romance novels where the heroine is swept off her feet was the canon by which I felt all of my potential and future relationships should be measured. The criteria were expanded to include my obsession with every sappy ballad, both hair and otherwise, recorded throughout the late 1980s on through the 1990s. Easy listening love ballads from the 1970s cannot be overlooked here. (The Carpenters, anyone?) And lest I forget the romantic comedies I viewed time and time again. Marisa Tomei’s and Robert Downey Jr’s “Only You” is still one of my favourites from my teen years. Cue “Dirty Dancing” (1987), “Ghost” (1990), “Pretty Woman” (1990), “The Cutting Edge” (1992), “Sleepless in Seattle” (1994), “Legends of the Fall” (1994) and it is not hard to garner why I felt I faced insurmountable struggles romantically. And then there was the teen drama “Beverly Hills, 90210” that I watched faithfully. Not only were my expectations set high, but I was a little awkward and shy as well. The movies I loved featured these handsome and, sometimes, tortured souls who either needed a heroine (who were equally as beautiful) to save them or further establish the notion that love could conquer all. My present day self admonishes her naïve and inexperienced teen self. Though Drew Barrymore’s “Never Been Kissed” (1999) came out just months before I was engaged, the years leading up to that moment pretty well cemented any confidence (or lack thereof at times) I held of myself. There were many times when I questioned whether I was marriageable or would go on to face life with a host of pets for company.
I made up for what I lacked in steady and serious relationships during my formative years in crushes. In my mind, celebrities such as Jonathan Crombie of “Anne of Green Gables” fame and hockey star Eric Lindros would have been wonderful suitors. I blush at the memory of my shrine of posters to Brad Pitt during my second year of university. I know I apologized to Lisa for that. (Surely Juanita, Glenda, and Kelly recall our dorm room in Blackall?) Damn Juliette Lewis, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Jennifer Aniston took him off the market. Hey, a girl could dream, right? Celebrities were not the only ones deemed suitable objects of my affection. I will not be name-dropping here as that would be daring and terrifically odd. Some high school crushes were fleeting; another lasted years. A few that I worshipped from afar had girlfriends. Others were gay (but not out at the time) and continue to live life, as far as I know, as their true selves. I dated a little more often in university and had my heart broken by a few. I was intense and wanted to find myself in a romance for the ages. Unfortunately, real life doesn’t always work that way. I still have fond recollections of the young men in question from that time of my life (1995-1997) who weren’t in it for the long haul - at least with me. In January 1998, around my 22nd birthday, I vowed to give up any notions of dating (or something like it) and my quest to find an acceptable suitor. Less than a week later, I met Tim. A month or so in, I recall confiding in my friend Kylee that I found the man I was going to marry. And the rest is history.
You must be wondering what brought on this inspired rush of thoughts this evening. I blame the hair ballads I listened to last night to be included in a lesson plan I am working on for the creative writing class I teach. This middle-aged woman who has been married for close to twenty-two years and will soon be an empty nester still belts the sappy songs she knows by heart and loves to this day. On my way home from Tim Hortons earlier, I reflected as I drove along. While a little lost in my reverie, I could not help but think about the hopeless romantic I once was and, in a sense, still am. As Oprah Winfrey put it in all of her infinite wisdom, perhaps I should have aimed for “hopeful” romantic all of those years ago. I recognize how easy it is for me to see that now. I currently possess a stronger sense of self and awareness I did not fully hold decades ago when I lamented and mourned my singledom. Frankly, as the stereo blasted the oft-played tunes, I couldn’t help but shed a tear or two as I sang along. Was it nostalgia combined with questions regarding whether or not I attained the love for the ages that my teenage self had set out for herself? Or were the tears simply those of my hormonal self fuelled by two large teas served in a couple of hours?
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I cannot say I accrued a wealth of experience dating in high school. A healthy supply of classic and modern romance novels where the heroine is swept off her feet was the canon by which I felt all of my potential and future relationships should be measured. The criteria were expanded to include my obsession with every sappy ballad, both hair and otherwise, recorded throughout the late 1980s on through the 1990s. Easy listening love ballads from the 1970s cannot be overlooked here. (The Carpenters, anyone?) And lest I forget the romantic comedies I viewed time and time again. Marisa Tomei’s and Robert Downey Jr’s “Only You” is still one of my favourites from my teen years. Cue “Dirty Dancing” (1987), “Ghost” (1990), “Pretty Woman” (1990), “The Cutting Edge” (1992), “Sleepless in Seattle” (1994), “Legends of the Fall” (1994) and it is not hard to garner why I felt I faced insurmountable struggles romantically. And then there was the teen drama “Beverly Hills, 90210” that I watched faithfully. Not only were my expectations set high, but I was a little awkward and shy as well. The movies I loved featured these handsome and, sometimes, tortured souls who either needed a heroine (who were equally as beautiful) to save them or further establish the notion that love could conquer all. My present day self admonishes her naïve and inexperienced teen self. Though Drew Barrymore’s “Never Been Kissed” (1999) came out just months before I was engaged, the years leading up to that moment pretty well cemented any confidence (or lack thereof at times) I held of myself. There were many times when I questioned whether I was marriageable or would go on to face life with a host of pets for company.
I made up for what I lacked in steady and serious relationships during my formative years in crushes. In my mind, celebrities such as Jonathan Crombie of “Anne of Green Gables” fame and hockey star Eric Lindros would have been wonderful suitors. I blush at the memory of my shrine of posters to Brad Pitt during my second year of university. I know I apologized to Lisa for that. (Surely Juanita, Glenda, and Kelly recall our dorm room in Blackall?) Damn Juliette Lewis, Gwyneth Paltrow, and Jennifer Aniston took him off the market. Hey, a girl could dream, right? Celebrities were not the only ones deemed suitable objects of my affection. I will not be name-dropping here as that would be daring and terrifically odd. Some high school crushes were fleeting; another lasted years. A few that I worshipped from afar had girlfriends. Others were gay (but not out at the time) and continue to live life, as far as I know, as their true selves. I dated a little more often in university and had my heart broken by a few. I was intense and wanted to find myself in a romance for the ages. Unfortunately, real life doesn’t always work that way. I still have fond recollections of the young men in question from that time of my life (1995-1997) who weren’t in it for the long haul - at least with me. In January 1998, around my 22nd birthday, I vowed to give up any notions of dating (or something like it) and my quest to find an acceptable suitor. Less than a week later, I met Tim. A month or so in, I recall confiding in my friend Kylee that I found the man I was going to marry. And the rest is history.
You must be wondering what brought on this inspired rush of thoughts this evening. I blame the hair ballads I listened to last night to be included in a lesson plan I am working on for the creative writing class I teach. This middle-aged woman who has been married for close to twenty-two years and will soon be an empty nester still belts the sappy songs she knows by heart and loves to this day. On my way home from Tim Hortons earlier, I reflected as I drove along. While a little lost in my reverie, I could not help but think about the hopeless romantic I once was and, in a sense, still am. As Oprah Winfrey put it in all of her infinite wisdom, perhaps I should have aimed for “hopeful” romantic all of those years ago. I recognize how easy it is for me to see that now. I currently possess a stronger sense of self and awareness I did not fully hold decades ago when I lamented and mourned my singledom. Frankly, as the stereo blasted the oft-played tunes, I couldn’t help but shed a tear or two as I sang along. Was it nostalgia combined with questions regarding whether or not I attained the love for the ages that my teenage self had set out for herself? Or were the tears simply those of my hormonal self fuelled by two large teas served in a couple of hours?
As for the fairytale ending a younger Margaret felt she was due somehow. . . Well, after the initial sense of disgruntlement faded, even she would reassess and see how unrealistic such tales are. In my version, there are no mice who can perform the housework and there is certainly no Fairy Godmother to set things straight when things go awry. There is, however, a princess living in a far away city who continues to create poignant works of art - all the while marching to the steady and continuous beat of her own drum. There is a prince who stays awake way too late and is starting to take steps toward his future goals. There is a king who plays guitar, drives a Dodge, and goes to trivia. And finally, there is a queen who has a huge heart and is passionate about every single venture she pursues. Though she is a dreamer, she keeps one foot firmly planted in reality.
While grand romantic gestures are not what they once were, that's okay. Decades in, we continue to move through the seasons of our lives. Storms have been weathered, rainbows appear, the sun sets, and the stars appear to guide the way. To paraphrase a quotation I quite like, a perfect relationship is nonexistent. This hopeless romantic understands how unconditional love exists through the ups, downs, and every moment in between. And how blessed I am to have experienced and continue to know the depth of lasting love.
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