Falling in Love with Love

Since becoming a housewife, I find myself less often inspired to write than when I was working at Kohl's and could barely find the time for it. Still, the occasional gem does present itself if I am particularly patient and reflective.
As of late I find myself musing over the dangers of being in love with being in love. This is partially due to having just read Sense and Sensibility again for the 5th or 6th time now, but it all started mulling over in my head after my most recent viewing of the "politically correct version" (as I like to call it) of Rogers and Hammerstein's Cinderella. Poignant visions of Bernadette Peters have danced in and out of my mind in which she is passionately singing her rendition of "Falling in Love with Love." I catch myself singing it in the shower for no apparent reason lately. But after finishing Jane Austen's beloved classic today, I find myself with a sudden desire to wax eloquent about the thoughts both Bernadette and Marianne have conjured up.
You see, I fell in love with love when I was very young. Growing up on Disney Princess movies was what contributed the most to my fanciful romantic ideas. As a young girl, ideas of "prince charming," and "happily ever after," were firmly planted in my brain. They were the ideals constantly in my mind. My ultimate dream was to one day find my own knight in shining armor and have a fairy tale ending.
In high school I also picked up the dubious idea of how romantic it would be to marry your high school sweetheart. I was inspired by my best friend Claire's parents, high school sweethearts who were happier than most other married couples I had observed. So when I met my first serious boyfriend, I was completely set up for the disaster that followed.
It would be lying to say that the first 6 months of our relationship weren't quite wonderful, and indeed they were as near perfect as relationships can get. But then why, when the first six months gave way to abuse and arguments, did I not have the intelligence to break it off? Why did I continue to stay with him on and off for another two years?
Like both Bernadette Peters' character in Cinderella and Marianne Dashwood, I was in love with the idea of being in love. Though my boyfriend had proved to be a scoundrel like Marianne's Willoughby, (though in a different way than Willoughby as I cannot claim that he impregnated anyone) I could not simply talk myself out of the ideals that had led me to him. And although the way I felt about him was some kind of young love, and was constant despite the awful parts of our relationship, it nowhere near compares to the way in which I later found I loved Steve. It is only recently I realized that this was because even though I cared about him, what I really loved the most was just the idea of being in love and the chance to make my romantic fantasies come true. The most difficult thing to overcome became not how I felt about him, but how much in love I was with the idea of marrying my high school sweetheart and having a happily ever after. When the relationship began I had told myself that I had found everything I had been dreaming of since I was 6. It seemed wrong when things suddenly turned sour to doubt that.
So even though it was obvious my prince charming had become more of a fairy tale villain than a hero, I kept holding on to a dying relationship convinced I could still make my happily ever after come out right.
The lyrics that Bernadette sang play vividly in my mind as I remember my foolishness-

"I fell in love with love one night when the moon was full,
I was blind with eyes unwilling to see..."

When I finally got a grip on myself and had the courage to end our relationship once and for all, I realized that it was far more difficult to leave behind the expectations I had built and the relationships I had cherished with his friends and family as part of my romantic dream, than it was to actually leave the boy himself. The hardest thing I have ever learned in my romantic life was how to stop being in love with the idea of being in love. Luckily it didn't take a near death illness like Marianne, or a cold selfish personna like Bernadette's to bring me to this realization. I actually learned this difficult lesson with the help of a boy who was nothing like a prince charming, and with a new self awareness which taught me how to understand life in a more rational, productive way.
And the funniest part was, I ended up finding my real prince charming when I wasn't even looking. By the time the man who would become my husband came along, I had developed a good deal more sense, and a better understanding of what would really make me happy in life. And it wasn't until after many months together that I suddenly came upon the realization that I had found what I had so desperately tried to MAKE happen with a less worthy man.
In the end I learned to pay attention to things like compatibility and suitable dispositions. Those two things had proved a better guide for obtaining my happy ending than any of the silly romantic ideals I had perfected in high school ever had.
A very Jane Austen conclusion to my life. And I couldn't be happier.
A with a husband who is truly my heart's desire, I find myself now safely able to be in love with being in love, because first I had the sense to make sure we had long lasting potential. To quote Jane Austen I feel that I, like Marianne "was born to discover the falsehoods of her own opinions, and to counteract, by her conduct, her most favorite maxims...But so it was...as afterwards in her more calm and sober judgment she had determined on-she found herself at 19 {side note-the age I happened upon my husband coincidentally} submitting to new attachments..."
Now I find myself married to a man who I admire and respect, and whose devotion I never have to worry about questioning or whose love I never have to doubt.
If that's not a happily ever after, I don't know what is.