is there harm in romanticizing?

'your life does sound like a rom-com'.

“Your life does sound like a rom-com.” My therapist can’t even deny it.

So, here’s the Hollywood byline:

After returning home from her bachelorette party, our thirty-something heroine is blind-sided by her fiancé, who dumps her two months before their postcard Palm Springs wedding. Realizing the life of her dreams in Los Angeles (with the dog, and kids and lemon tree in the backyard) has ceased to exist, she packs her suitcases and move to New York City. It is a familiar tale. There is a long standing history of heartbroken singles running away to this city. Will she find home in the chaos of her new surroundings? Or maybe learn to accept that home was never a place or a person, but can only be found within herself—

The script fucking writes itself. Cut my check.

But in a way, is there harm in romanticizing our lives? What are the consequences of deriving story and meaning from the daily mundane? Or potentially worse, from our traumatic experiences?

It has always been my default coping mechanism.

My brain possesses cinematic tendencies. I was that teenage girl with the green mini iPod in the backseat of her mom’s car. Staring out the window like the main character of some coming-age-film with Bowie playing in the opening credits. Seemingly longing for something different but not exactly sure what that was—

I never perceived this trait as naivety. Instead, I saw it as a choice. And ‘cynicism’ was not in any way authentic on me. Inherently, I chose to see the beauty within my journey. Because life always felt like it deserved such weight. Moments are brief, so why not paint them with all of its color and texture?

Don’t call it sugar-coating. The era of social media has ushered in illusions of constant perfection and ease. But my version of romanticism, strides to see the full picture. Attempting to articulate and appreciate all of its details within the joy and mess and pain. That is where humanity lives. And my inspiration arrives-

It was easy to do so living in Los Angeles. I still can feel hot early evenings of summer. Palm trees bowing their heads west. Flocks of green parrots coasting above the hills of Elysian. Holding hands down Sunset with the sticky taste of margaritas on our lips.

As I have gotten older, I see where I might have forced things. Created scenarios that didn’t fully exist. I had a blindspot. It is why I am where I am today.

Some days, having an ex-fiancé sounds sexy. Some days, having an ex-fiancé sounds like a walking red flag.

I do have to remind myself that lives are not meant to be linear narratives. I like to pretend I have some semblance of control. It has proven to be challenging to rewire my brain not see it as so. Story-telling is deeply human. It is an act of survival.

But I do question still- Am I guilty of crafting ‘moments’ instead of allowing them to just happen?

I am not too sure. I am still learning. It is dangerous to romanticize the potential of the story verse witnessing the actions of the individuals who stand right before you.

One of my best friends described me as a ‘capital-r Romantic’. I always appreciated that sentiment. She reminds me, that I do have a gift in transcending ‘the everyday’ into something more poetic. I saw this skill previously as a way to dissect the answers or purpose of my story. But now I understand there is nothing truly to uncover. The profound beauty of the human experience lies in the unknown. In the spontaneous and unexpected- no matter the outcome.

So my lens has a different vantage than before. I have a softer focus. I choose to romanticize the midnight walks to the pizza shop after a date that left me hollow. I choose to romanticize the creases of my friend’s smile as we laugh on the train. I choose to romanticize the hum of the espresso machine, and chatter in Italian as I work in this cafe now.

I never want to lose my ability to witness the profoundness of life. I just want to hold space for its truth as well.