A Call to Action

There are three types of people in the world: those who are love cynics, those who are indifferent, and those who are hopeless romantics. And, like many other stereotypical writers you hear about in movies, I am a hopeless romantic. I am among the deprived creatures who just can’t seem to find a significant other that matches the images they see in theatres. We ooze with sappiness and it drips into our writing. Now, I have been in my fair share of relationships, and I can say without a doubt that it was my reluctant nature to stop looking for the 'dream' guy I envisioned that caused my significant other at the time to cut things off. When something such as finding your 'soulmate' becomes a big part of your relationships, you know you are completely and utterly consumed by the thoughts of “what if?”. 

It became a part of my everyday routine. I would wake up and it would be on my mind. I would go out in public and look at every face that caught my eye and think, “What if HE is supposed to be the guy? What if we’re destined to be?” This would continue for ages, but I would never get the nerve to actually go up to any intriguing stranger I crossed paths with. In my mind, it was more fun (and easier) to envision a perfect world where hopeless romantics wo, and such relationships did exist such as finding your SO wandering the aisles of IKEA on a Saturday afternoon. 

Now, I know what you’re thinking- that this is obsessive and ludacris. Believe me, dear reader, I’m on your side. However, it is difficult for a hopeless romantic such as myself to snap out of that habit when my life was so consumed with the next relationship I found myself in. In fact, until recently, it was as if my life was characterized by each boyfriend I encountered. My preteen stage was labeled as the phase in which I dated Boy A, who made me laugh the most. Boy B was the one who had the most impact on my friends, music taste, and style. Boy C was the one who never happened, but it was nice to take a mysterious face and shape him into the guy I dreamed about. All their names and faces were pasted into my mental collage, and I was constantly jumping from relationship to relationship, desperate for a guy to come into my life and show me what it was like to be in love- what it was like in the movies. Time after time again, I would end up alone and wonder what I had done wrong. Maybe I was too much for the guys I was going after to handle, or maybe there was something wrong with me. 

It wasn’t until I got cheated on, and everything fell apart, that I realized what love and soulmates and relationships really entailed. Such things are not flat; they are three-dimensional. There is more to love than appearances, there is more to love than gender. All this time I thought I’d find my soulmate, the man I was destined to be with, in a pair of silver blue eyes that stared at me from across the room on a rainy Tuesday morning. But, as I began to grieve over the humiliation, I started getting angry. I was mad at the boys before him who could’ve been but weren’t. I was furious at the boys before him who didn’t amount to the guy I had in my head. 

As I started falling apart, I turned to my notebook to jot down the raw emotions flowing through my brain. It was there, lying on my bedroom floor, writing in a tear-stained journal, that I not only found myself, but found my one true love. At that moment, I knew I was never meant to rely on a boy for my happiness. I was never destined for heartache. A human was not what completed me; a human was not my true love. It was my writing. It was the way I could construct words in order to tell a story or how I could consume myself into my art and create a masterpiece. It was strange to finally feel like I was a part of a higher doing than the life I was subjected to. To all my hopeless romantics out there: hold onto that passion. Use it to your advantage to create something bigger, but never expect your love will turn into what you envisioned it as. Expectation is the root of all heartbreak. If you live your life in terms of boys or girls, you will end up broken, for love is natural and not forced. Love in the real world is no movie- because what you see on the screen is written by the same hopeless romantics as us.  

By Brooks Sullivan