Love. It’s all around me. People are talking about it, falling into it, stepping on it, and talking about it like it’s the latest phenomenon since… Twitter.
Before you think that I am some sort of bitter, cynical, recently burned young professional who graduated without an engagement ring (an uncommon occurrence at my Alma Mater), I’m not. I’m just saying it seems to be a reoccurring theme in my life right now. And I’m OK with that.
I love “love” actually. I’m a HUGE fan. I’m fairly confident that if you met me in person and we could sit down and catch up over a cup of coffee, you would come to the conclusion that I was the biggest, sappiest most hopeless romantic you had ever met. And I would take it as a compliment.
So the fact that the subject of love has been somewhat saturating and all encompassing doesn’t bother me in the slightest. It actually inspires all sorts of new thoughts, ideas, dreams, and truths that bring an extraordinary amount of joy and freedom.
Here’s an example: I saw a romantic comedy this evening and, for all intents and purposes, it was the same as every other romantic comedy. I think most men would agree with me when I say that they are all the same: predictable, really cheesy, and completely unrealistic.
Whatever. I still like them.