I used to be embarrassed by the fact that I was a hopeless romantic. When I was a child, it was fine to believe in love at first sight, romance, soul mates, and happily ever afters. I loved dressing up in old dresses pretending that I was Cinderella at the ball and my Prince Charming was about to sweep through the door.
In my early teenage years, I would sit quietly in the corner during class and lunch and devour romance novels. My favorite author at the time (Emilie Loring) was a woman who had written more than 30 books from the 1920’s to the 1960’s. I loved her characters: the heroines were always beautiful, graceful and elegant. The heroes were always true gentlemen that would fall in love with the wholesome, positive and courageous women. The books were full of optimism and adventure and sprinkled with just enough romance that they thrilled my innocent heart. I firmly believed that my own hero would find me someday and I would have that relationship that I so yearned for.
Yet, as I grew older, I discovered from many of my peers that believing in these things were considered immature and childish. It was fine to seek a relationship, but I had to do so with a sophisticated, cynical veneer. I had spent so many years as a child being bullied that I was afraid of not fitting in, so I adopted the cynicism and mocked silly romantics with the best of them. I found it was easy to do since so little romance came my way. It was easy to make fun of it and pretend that it didn’t matter to me, when inside my heart was crying out for that tenderness, affection and passion that I had believed in as a child.
As the years passed and the gulf widened between my secret hopes and reality, I began to truly believe in the cynical viewpoint of relationships and love. My own marriage had failed and I have never experienced the love I had dreamt of all those years before. Did anyone have good relationships or was it all just a show? My own graveyard of broken hearts had just about convinced me to give up altogether. I found it ironic that the woman who had written a book about hope was feeling the complete opposite.
But then the universe stepped in yet again. One night, as I watched a documentary regarding a motivational speaker, I felt a little tug at my heart. He spoke of dreams and possibilities and the passion required to accomplish them. Facing my own stark reality, the floodgates in my soul opened and I sobbed. Was there really a possibility that my dreams could still become reality? I had buried those hopes so well after so many failures. But it was as if a little pixie dust from a passing star seemed to sprinkle itself on me reminding me of who I am.
I am a hopeless romantic. I love flowers, nature, beautiful clothes and soft music. I love mystery, adventure, romantic movies and above all…happy endings. I can honestly say that I still believe that my “one” is out there somewhere seeking for me and that one day I will have that relationship I long ago hoped for. And best of all, I can say that I have found faith in my dreams again and in myself.
For all the hopeless romantics out there, embrace who you are. We remind people to believe in magic and miracles and to hope again. Through music, art and words, we help others to find that indescribable “something” that lift souls above the ordinary. And most of all, we believe in love and the power it has to change lives.
Keep staring at the stars, romantic one, and maybe…just maybe, one day you will finally be able to touch one.