Hopeless

I used to be more romantic. I only have to look back a couple years (or is it a couple months?) to find a time when Saturday nights were full of amorous possibilities and bouquets of flowers at the grocery store made me imagine who I could give them to. Now I walk past said flowers and wonder why they put them out by the checkout where they’ll be withered and brown by the end of the day. And I spend plenty of Saturday nights catching up on homework or working on some writing project or another.
I wonder sometimes what caused this change. It was after coming home from my mission, but before starting this semester. I’m pretty sure it was after I broke up with my last girlfriend. But was it before I went to London? Or after I started writing the play about the failed marriage? And where exactly can I fit in my recent run-in with a few dating nightmares you thought only happened in the first half of a chick flick? But really, trying to pin down a specific incident or cause would be futile. The fact is, I am no longer the hopeless romantic of yesterday.
“Hopeless romantic.” What does that even mean? I never thought “hopeless” was a positive term except, perhaps, in this context. But how can we account for that? I Googled “hopeless romantic” and came up with an entry in the Urban Dictionary that said this:
“This person is in love with love. They believe in fairy tales and love. They're not to be confused as stalkers or creepy because that's not what a hopeless romantic is. All hopeless romantics are idealists, the sentimental dreamers, the imaginative and the fanciful when you get to know them. They often live with rose-colored glasses on. They make love look like an art form with all the romantic things they do for their special someone.”
The funny thing? Hopeless romantics seem to have a lot more hope than the rest of us. I scoff at love songs and wonder sometimes if there is a someone for everyone. But the romantics believe that anything is possible. Their dream girl is just around the next corner…okay, the next corner. Okay, any corner now. Me? I’m beyond that. In my extensive life experience of twenty-two years, I have at least learned that anything worth having doesn’t come easily. Anyone who thinks that it does is, well, hopeless.
That must be it. The hopeless romantics didn’t coin the phrase themselves. People like me did. My roommate called me a “skeptical romantic.” I certainly still have faith in the power of love (thank you Huey Lewis) but I take it with a grain of salt. Or a pinch of salt. Or a tablespoon, depending on the day. But I wouldn’t say I’m hopeless. I wonder sometimes if I would want to trade two feet firmly planted for the ability to fly again. Even with the potential hazard of the inevitable crash and burn. (How’s that for hopeless?) But I’ll stay where I am for now. And who knows? That dream girl around the corner might just change my mind.