What follows is a series about what has probably been the hardest life lesson I’ve ever had to learn.
The first piece of writing I ever had published was about break ups. I wrote it in my last year of high school and it was titled If your heart was truly broken, you’d be dead. That cynical title sets the tone of the piece pretty well. You can read it here, but before you do, let me give a bit of a disclaimer.
I wrote the article a couple of weeks after breaking up with my best friend. I don’t mean that in the obligatory-refer-to-your-significant-other-as-your-best-friend-in-a-Facebook-anniversay-post kind of way; I mean this girl had been my best friend and partner in crime for several years before we starting going out. Our relationship was a John Green novel waiting to happen. Once we started dating, everyone just assumed it was going to last.
If chivalry isn’t already dead, then at the very least, it seems to have passed its best-before date.
Gone are the days of the chivalrous knight in his shining armour – a knight who would slay any number of dragons to rescue a beautiful princess. A knight who would hold the castle gates open for said princess to walk through. A knights who would pull out a throne for the princess to sit upon during a banquet, pay the full bill for said banquet and then, at the end of the evening, would walk the princess back to the portcullis of her own castle.
About three months ago I was sitting on a couch, listening to a couple of my friends discuss the idea of marriage. Neither of them took what could be called a “traditional” view on the subject and it was probably mere moments before I began raining my Catholic opinion down upon them like the ten plagues of Egypt.
I’ve never understood the term “hopeless romantic.”
I always thought it sounded like a bit of an oxymoron. Romance was exciting. It was intimate. It was creative and at times, it was deeply challenging. Romance was a lot of things. But it was not hopeless.