On Romantic Love

Over the last two weeks that I've been in Toronto, I've done a lot of waiting around. Mostly in the waiting rooms of the hospital. To pass the time while I wait, I've been reading. So far, I've re-read the first three "Anne of Green Gables" book. Of course, I've read then before, but now, I've moved onto the next books in the series, which I never read growing up. Right now, I'm on "Anne of Windy Poplars" and so far, it's made up of excepts from the letters that Anne writes to Gilbert.

A lot of the subject matter in this book revolves around love. Who loves who, who is marrying/engaged to whom, etc. And of course, Anne's love for Gilbert and their "dream house." As a result, I'm forced to think of love. Not the "love for mankind" that I'm already well-acquainted with, but the romantic sort of love.

Anne's letter to Gilbert, although they're fictional, remind me of a time when I was young and in love because I was quite the same. I wrote love letters and imagined an idyllic future with the man of my dreams. Of course, teenage love can't last forever, and it all eventually ended; luckily, with no regrets, and without the marring of happy memories. But I remember being so thoroughly in love, that it was my whole life. As a young girl, I really didn't have anything else other than school and a few extracurricular activities to occupy my mind, nor did I have any emotional baggage, so love was more or less the more important thing in my life. The best part was that without grown up worries like rent and bills and past romantic let downs, I poured out my love more freely. I was able to love without fear. And as a result, I was sublimely happy. There were bumps in the road, of course, but nothing that wasn't easily forgiven and moved past.

Now, I worry that I'll never be able to love like that again. I'm not 15 and carefree anymore (not that I'm old or anything). But at 28, I have all the burdens of adulthood that I could barely imagine a decade ago. There's work to be a done, a house to be kept, bills to be paid, pets to be cared for. And worst of all, the emotional baggage.

The past 10 years have been mostly a disappointment, romantically speaking. A series of unrequited loves, one-night stands, long-distance (and ultimately useless) romances, meaningless flings, and more heartbreak than ought to be allowed. Not mention a couple of creepers. And despite all this heartache, no real relationships aside from one brief interlude with a guy that I slept with for a few months and prematurely called my "boyfriend" for a few weeks before I left for Korea.

I mean, heartbreak wouldn't really be so terrible if I had something to show for it. But I really don't.

And now, I'm so bogged down with fear and disappointment that I'm afraid I've reached a point where I've just given up. I'm terrified that no matter how my fairy-tale sensibilities crave true love, that my pragmatic, world-weary mind is not willing to be open to it. I don't know if I'm even capable of feeling chemistry anymore, let alone allow myself to be vulnerable enough to give wholeheartedly to love like I did all those years ago.

Again, when I say "love" I mean, romantic love. I love my friends, family and pets with little issue. It's just the romantic kind I have so much difficulty with.

I realize that this rant may be driven by all the hormones I've been taking, coupled with the fact that in that last two weeks, my dreams have been filled with significant past lovers and crushes. Nevertheless, it's been on my mind. And it worries me.