Despite its popularity in stories and movies, love at first sight has little to do with reality. Other idealistic but unrealistic beliefs can do a lot of damage.
In other words, a belief in destiny leads to a belief in mind reading. Read: The re- invention of the soul mate. This wreaks havoc on relationships. From the March issue: The case for settling for Mr. Good Enough.
Believing in soul mates is functionally the same as believing that if you get a certain job, achieve financial independence, or move to a sunny place, you will have true and lasting satisfaction. Nothing is more human than this belief, which keeps us hopeful in spite of our negative experiences.
But it is a recipe for unhappiness. We cannot attain permanent satisfaction—at least, not in this mortal coil—and waiting for it will leave us disappointed over and over again. When you indulge in a romantic comedy, consider its source. According to the U. Not even the creators of the movie can achieve the standard they are promoting. Lasting love is certainly possible, but not if you expect love to do all the work for you.
If anything, it creates additional struggles. It can be downright ugly. Actually, it can drive people to kill. Crimes of passion are a real thing. Love breeds kindness and passion and beauty. But it also breeds nastiness, darkness and even hate. We want love to be greater than it is. We want it to be this transcendent force that unites us as humans beings, even as it tears us apart. We want it to make life worth living.
We want it to heal our pain. We want it to imbue our existence with meaning. But the truth is, you have to do all of that for yourself. We all want love, and we all deserve it. Yes, certain aspects of life are immediately awesomer once you find a perpetual partner in crime.
Often, the answer is simply hard work. Or introspection and personal growth. Sometimes, the answer is good-bye. I love long. I am good at love. There's just one slight problem. Credit: Stocksy. Love messes with me. It always has. It teases me, just for fun. It first hit when I was just five years old, with a crush on a little boy in kindergarten, a sweet blond thing in short pants.
No sooner had I realised he was my future husband than his parents whisked him off overseas, and I was left forlorn, my tiny heart crushed. Still, if love was rough with me in preschool, it was vicious in my teens. It bestowed upon me a three-year infatuation with a resolutely disinterested boy in my year. There were several perfectly nice young men who seemed to like me, but no; love made me pine for that one kid who never looked in my direction.
At 17, love finally cut me a break, making me fall head over heels for a charming Michael J. Fox lookalike who'd made his intentions known. But love crushed me again three years later, when the same boy ripped my heart in two, announcing he'd decided it was time for us to part.
Love did a number on me after that, propelling me into a rebound relationship with someone so ill suited we spent most of our time watching TV. And then love pulled a dramatic plot twist when my Michael J. Fox lookalike returned, claiming he'd never stopped loving me, six years after we'd broken up. It was a fairytale ending. I married my Michael, bought a house with him, and created a family.
But love wasn't finished with me.
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