As much as I try to deny it and act unimpressed by random acts of chivalry, I love the idea of being swept off my feet by an affectionate and considerate man. I blame my avid watching of Disney Princess films throughout my childhood for this, as do many other women. But there's certainly a lot more to it than just pop culture..
I grew up around boys. Two younger brothers automatically provided a steady stream of testosterone through my childhood home, not only from my siblings, but from their friends that ran rampant around my backyard. I had girl friends. Lots of them. But there was something more exciting about "hanging with the boys". I'm sure it was a combination of the attention I received from them along with the fact that I really wasn't allowed to be running around the neighborhood with these "rascals", playing shooter games with sticks and climbing up trees to drop water balloons on unsuspecting passersby. But I was also drawn to the "dudes" because I felt like I could relate to them. The first 5 or 6 years of my life were spent travelling and readjusting and most of my time was spent with my brothers alone. Two of them; one of me. Our ratio was off so as much as I pushed them to play dress-up or Barbie Dreamhouse with me, they naturally won the argument and we spent the days doing boy things. I didn't mind it. And I got used to it. And I liked doing the "guy stuff".
I think those first few years of your childhood really shape who you are and stay with you throughout your entire life. I've recently discovered that my personality, particularly when it comes to relationships, has always battled between two sides: realistic, calm, passive vs imaginative, excitable, aggressive. It fairly easy to determine between the sides where the traits came from.
As a woman, I'm naturally more in touch with my emotional side. I dream big dreams and allow myself to be convinced that if there's a will, there's a way. It goes without saying that this is not the most satisfying philosophy to guide your life as most things won't work out. Things change, people change, and you grow, whether you'd planned to or not. I still get excited over the smallest of things and tend to over-analyze everything. I notice myself apologizing for that quality quite a bit, but if I were truly sorry for it, wouldn't I change it? I think so, and while I have made strides to tone-down my active thoughts, I can't say that I've totally eliminated them. So a strong part of me must be proud of my critical thinking. I guess in a way it's a protective mechanism. If I can over-think something to the point that I've determined every possible outcome, then I can't beat myself up about being disappointed when the disappointments come along. I'd mentally prepared for the worst and so I should have been expecting the results. The downside to this is that I sometimes over-think it to death and kill the potential before it's even planted its roots.
I say this as though I've become immune to heartache, which isn't true. I still feel. A lot. Too much usually. That is one part of me that I wouldn't mind getting rid of. That's also a very feminine part of me, a very fragile and sensitive part. But it's also because of this part, I've realized, that I'm able to love so wholly and unselfishly. Not just lovers, but friends and family. It's a blessing and a curse all in one, but it is a strange and rare comfort to know that at the end of the day there is little more I could have done to show someone how much I love them. This is where my aggression comes into play. I very actively and openly feel for the people around me, because if roles were switched I'd want to be that sure of what I mean to someone. But unfortunately, not everyone likes to be so sure. And even more so, not everyone likes to show.
The side I inherited from growing up around boys clings to the realism and passiveness. That nonchalant, "I'll-let-you-make-the-move" attitude that most teenage/young adult males carry with them. Granted, that's a very small part of my personality because Lord knows I'm impatient. But as I've dealt with let-down after let-down, I've learned to be more realistic in what I want and what I expect. It's a tough battle to fight, between realism and the fantasy world, and I often find myself floating a few inches above reality. But as long as I can still see the ground then I can be sure that my fall won't hurt too much. And if it does, then I can't blame anyone besides myself for letting me float so high up.
It's because of my "guy side" that I admit with strong reluctance my fascination with romance. It's a nice thought, in theory. The movies make it into this huge aspect of a relationship and the reason why the girl falls for the boy. But why does romance have to be so outward? Why does it have to be a big production in Grand Central Station with a flash-mob and '80s love ballads and flowers and ballons and doves? Or a wedding proposal in front of the Eiffel Tower just before a huge fireworks show starts ending with a lift-you-off-your-feet kiss? I've never experienced anything of that scale, but to be honest, that would stress me out more than make me swoon. The few romantic events of my life have made me anxious and a little bit queasy. I'm not sure if that's because I was carrying a bit of guilt in realizing I didn't feel as strongly or if my anxiety simply cannot handle such extravagance.. But whatever reason it may be, I've never had much interest in experiencing a huge display of romance. I like my (much) smaller scale ideals of romanticism: of early morning walks on the beach in our pjs and me with no makeup or of ordering Chinese takeout and watching SNL reruns; of quick trips to the grocery store with playful yet serious arguments over spaghetti or bowtie pasta or of simply waking up in the morning to the light touch of finger tips brushing back my hair. I think the little things mean more as far as romance goes.
So maybe the "guy side" of me has dwindled a bit, but it's still there. I think that shows in my simplicity. I'd much rather be the caretaker versus the taken-care-of. It's simple words and simple acts that I notice. Other girls requesting to be whisked away by their "Prince Charming", to be taken on surprise trips to Disneyland, to be sung cheesy love songs on their birthday... I vomit a bit in my mouth. And I stubbornly scoff and roll my eyes at the thought. Mostly because I'm too independent for my own good and think that a life dependent on a man is a very sad and unfulfilling one. Falling for the trend of "true love" and fantasy still feels like a surrender and a sacrifice more than a happy ending and I'll continue to be picky and fickle and doubtful of it all until someone can convince me otherwise.
But coming home to a bouquet of gerber daisies doesn't sound like the worst gesture in the world...
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