This blog post is a departure from my typically more rational, objective writings about life, culture, and human nature. This is likely to read as more of a rant.
With that out of the way, let the deluge begin.
I was just broken up with recently. Super recently. The ground on that grave is less than two weeks cold. If she is reading this right now by some chance, then it is suffice to say that I am incredibly hurt and you will likely not like what I have to say below.
In my admittedly less rational than usual, less objective than usual state of mind, I have come to a conclusion via experience and through observation: romance and love are aberrations. Our culture teaches us that love and romance is the norm, that those who shun these things or can’t find them in some way are the outcasts. To be fair, I’m not scorning love in all contexts of the word; the love between family members, brothers, friends, the kind of love you might show to a pet, these are all well and good. Romantic love I contend, is the aberration.
My parents and one of my cousins are among the few examples I can think of for instances of romantic relationships that have not only endured for a great extent of time, but avoided the kinds of cataclysmic fallouts that some relationships do recover from to an extent, but never fully heal from, i.e. things like cheating, blackmail, abandonment, divorce followed by reconciliation, etc. Statistically and through empirical evidence, this is not the norm. The norm is seeing relationships come and go not much less often than one changes clothes or changes jobs.
I no longer believe, except in statistically low, highly improbable instances, in a such thing as true romance. The same goes for loyalty, to sacrifice, to empathy, to having at least a thought of the effects your actions and words have on another.
“But,” you say, “this too shall pass. You’re jaded now, but in time this will heal. Eventually you’ll find the love of your life.”
I’ll have none of those words right now, nor their sentiments.
I’ve exceeded three decades of life on this planet and in this country. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I have the wisdom, experience, and werewithal to put myself in others’ shoes, to analyze our culture and human history, to see the patterns in the ivy, as it were. The concept of romantic love is an abstraction, throughout all our histories fraught with deceit, deception, lies, betrayal, false promises driven by young naivete and the raging of suppressed hormonal urges.
If you are what I consider the unusual minority who has actually found the elusive goal of lasting romantic love, if you have found happiness with a life partner, then I salute you. But if I may borrow to an extent a line of reasoning from the philosopher Hume, because of the high probability that romantic love is bullshit, I cannot believe in it as truth. I can no longer even believe in it as an idea. Ideas spring from experience. Reliable experiences produce reliable, stronger ideas. The concept of romance has failed me and has been observed by me to be such a farcical, improbably achievable notion as to be wholly unreliable and not worth believing in even on the conceptual level.
…and I suppose that’s really all I can say without just paraphrasing myself over and over. I am sure that given time, when the wound is not so fresh, I may be less acerbic when discussing this topic. But the amount of time and energy I have spent on the endeavor of engaging in romantic love only to be cast time and again into the blackest pit of human despair, where life seems like it isn’t worth continuing, has given me reason enough to no longer exalt it, to cast it down like the false idol it is.