PERSONAL: THIS WORLD WAS NOT BUILD FOR ROMANTICS

 I have come to the realization that I have turned into Ted Mosby.

For those of you who don’t watch How I Met Your Mother, start watching it. Immediately.  It stars Ted Mosby and his group of friends as he tells his children the story of how he came to meet their mother (duh). Ted is a romantic from day one, a professional architect with high hopes of finding the love of his life somewhere in New York. I am ready to admit it: I’m a self-proclaimed realist who, somewhere along the line, inadvertently became a hopeless romantic. I look for relationships in all the wrong places, seeking out true love with partners who are seeking a completely different situation. I somehow always end up with my heart on my sleeve, hoping that someone that I care for won’t hurt me.

That being said, searching for love has never been at the forefront my mind; I have had so many other goals throughout my life. A career..But as much as I claim to not care about love, to not be searching for it, never directly hoping to discover it, I really would not be against it. And by that I mean I would really like to find a partner. I try so hard to be analytical, intelligent, and forward-thinking, but I’m a sucker for poetry, subtle displays of affection. Is that even possible?  Maybe it isn’t a necessity for my survival, but it certainly is something that I want, something I can’t help but pursue, however futile those pursuits may be. I’ve fallen head-over-heels in love with the idea of being in love. It probably sounds silly, but the concept of meaning something to someone, of being the last thought on someone’s mind before they go to sleep,  of being someone’s emotional rock and having that support for myself, is something that I have found myself desiring. Is that needy?  Am I giving in to an embedded need within myself for a partner to take care of me?

Being a romantic sucks, because the world was not built for romantics. It was intended for those that know that grand romantic gestures come off as creepy more often than not, and the idea of “soul mates” is as constructed as anything shown in pornography or MTV Cribs. I was raised on television and movies.put on emphasis on true love and romanticism and all that poison that infects vulnerable youth like me.  I still cling to the belief that the mystical “her” may be sitting next to me on the bus. She may be standing behind me at the liquor store, or serve me my food the next time I eat at a restaurant, or attend the same concert I go to this summer. Or, as Ted’s misguided love for Robin that once permeated, perhaps I’ve already met her. Where or when I meet her isn’t the issue for me (yet). It’s the if.