What Is Love? Baby, Don't Hurt Me. Whoa, Whoa, Whoa. Oooh, Oooh.

Whatever happened to that song? Anyway...

A friend of mine recently broke up with her boyfriend. When she was explaining to me why and what had gone wrong, she admitted that she was afraid she didn’t know what she was looking for, that she wasn’t sure what love was supposed to feel like, and she was afraid she was dumping this guy over some expectation of what love was supposed to be without knowing if she was right or not. I knew immediately what she was talking about because I’ve had those exact thoughts countless times. I have this idea in my head of what love is supposed to be and what I want it to be, what my boyfriend and future husband is supposed to be and what I want him to be, what our relationship is supposed to be and what I want it to be. In my head, I deserve this and I should refuse to settle for anything less. If I’m patient and keep my standards high, then one day I’ll be rewarded when my soulmate appears and I’ll just know this is him and I’ll finally know true, passionate love. The problem is I’m not sure if what I’m holding out for exists.

The problem is I’ve seen a lot of movies. I’ve read a lot of books, many of them written by the Austen or a Bronte. Instead of making me more cultured and intelligent, I’m afraid what this has really done is royally fucked me up. I think these movies and books have made me set the bar so high that I can’t appreciate or recognize the real thing because no guy has ever said to me, “The best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds and that’s what you’ve given me.” Thank you, The Notebook. You have ruined my life. No one has ever filled a room with flowers for me or sung me a song he wrote himself or stood outside my house with a boombox over his head playing Peter Gabriel. Not once. I know. I can’t believe it either. Joe hated it when I saw these movies or read these books because inevitably I hated him afterwards and said irrational things, like, “how come we’ve never slow danced under the Eiffel Tower?” or “just out of curiosity, would you say I complete you?” Somehow or another, no matter how he answered (which by the way, was usually with an eye roll and a “here we go again”) the message I received was clear: he just didn’t love me the way I deserved. You know, the way Jack loved Rose.

I used to constantly question whether I was in love or not. I mean, I knew I loved him but shouldn’t I know if this is it? Shouldn’t I feel like my heart is being ripped from my body whenever we are apart and not be able to get out of bed for days due to the sheer and unbearable pain of separation? I just plain missed him when we weren’t together. So boring. Where was the drama, where was the excitement, where was the clothes ripping, heart pounding, soul shaking, earth moving love I deserved? Because I will not settle for less. Bridget Jones and Carrie Bradshaw taught me that. But on the other hand, what if I had the real thing the whole time and I couldn’t appreciate it? Why can’t I just be satisfied with a guy who is there for me every single time I need him, who is always on my side but still calls me on my bullshit, who makes me laugh, who has seen me at my worst and still wants to be with me, who after so many years still likes to cuddle, who supports my ambition, who cooks with me and cleans up after, who is unfalteringly loyal, who is always honest even when I won’t like the answer, who reaches for my hand when we’re out together, and who always proudly introduced me to people as “my girl”? What is wrong with me? But what if the earth-shaker is out there somewhere? Shouldn’t I hold out for that? Aren’t I supposed to know the real thing when I have it? What if you just have a hunch and a hope? Is that enough to build a life on?

It’s so confusing. I guess if I had to choose I’d rather have the steady, consistent, loyal every day love that eventually becomes as comfortable and familiar as your favorite pair of sweatpants. But occasionally, I’d still like the grand gesture, maybe a pretty speech, even if it’s only whispered in my ear before I fall asleep. I just want to know the possibility of the passion is there, even if it’s not bubbling every day. I want to be surprised every once in a while. I still want to be swept off my feet. Just once. Along with everything else previously mentioned. And if you can give me that, I promise you can pick the movies from now on. I think that’s more than fair.