Cecily White | Love and Other Stories We Tell Ourselves
April 7, 2016
“Love is a striking
example of how little reality means to us.” -Marcel Proust
As an author, I read a lot. As a reader, I think a lot. As a romance
reader, I think about love a lot – an unfortunate amount, my friends might say.
What is it made of? Hormones? Pheromones? Something less tangible? How reliable
is it? Does it fade over time? There’s no limit to the number of questions a
love-addled brain can produce in a single episode of insomnia, and no end of
disastrous love stories that have failed to answer them correctly. So, why do we keep trying? C.S. Lewis wrote about four different types of love and how they intersect and
fluctuate across the human life cycle. His essential conclusion was that
familial love is defining, spiritual/religious love is necessary, passionate
love (aka lust) is powerful yet fleeting, and companionship is forever. Thus,
since companionship is the one that lasts, we should all marry our best friends,
right? Admittedly, if we did, the divorce rate might go down. The birth rate
might also go down since many of us, myself included, have exactly zero desire
to see our BFFs naked. What’s the answer, then? Why are we drawn to bad boys? Why, despite our mother’s
very sage advice never to go into a relationship thinking you can
fix/save/reform the guy, do we continue to seek out “tragically misunderstood”
quasi-criminals who really just need an opportunity to redeem their souls? Are
we that naïve? That hopeful? That delusional? The answer is yes. Yes, we are. You see, despite what you may think about reality, it doesn’t exist. Not the way
you see it, anyway. Your life is a story you tell yourself. Sometimes you tell
it to others, leaving out the boring parts, of course. But don’t worry, you’re
not alone. Since the dawn of recorded history, the world has belonged to
storytellers. Those who recount the history control the legend. They can turn
the tide of a battle with a single sentence. They can create or destroy a happy
ending with little more than a word. Since childhood we’ve hungered for stories
– bedtime stories, fairy tales, songs about itsy-bitsy spiders. Is it any wonder
that, when we grow old enough to be the hero of our own life-tale, we would seek
out a good story for ourselves? Each and every one of us was born to slay the
dragon, save the village, and solve the magical equation that will heal the
world. And don’t forget how, on the path to saving the world, we’ll also teach
that quasi-criminal the error of his ways and reform him into the heroic,
adoring prince we know he can be. Um, right. Love is not rational. If it were, I’d be happily married to whoever my mother picked for me (Did I
mention she knows everything and is always right?), surrounded by well-behaved
children and probably planning my next Disney vacation. But no, love doesn’t
make sense. Love is an appetite, and an insatiable one. Love is a story we tell
ourselves. Proust also wrote that it’s our own imagination which is responsible
for love, and not the other person. The object of our affection – boyfriend,
girlfriend, or crush – is merely a character we created, and often one to whom
we have neglected to attribute flaws and failings. So, ultimately, all love is
self-love. But – but that’s SO unsatisfying! Love doesn’t exist? It’s just a bunch of chemicals and self-deception? It’s all
a big fat lie? What kind of romance author thinks that??? ;-) Not this one, I assure you. You see, the world is not only an endless canvas waiting to be painted with the
brilliant colors of your life story, it’s also a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Inside of every frog, there exists a prince, just as within every prince, there
dwells a frog. Ambiguity is built into human nature, and sometimes, believing in
something can give it the courage to step forward. This is why we read. This is why we seek happy endings. This is why we work so
very hard to craft our own adventures with our own happy endings. Have you ever
noticed how memory is often much more fun than the actual event? It’s because we
view our memory through love-goggles. We forgive its faults and failings. We see
the past with new, loving eyes. Isn’t it possible to see each other this way? In true circular fashion, I’ll end as I began, with another quote from Proust.
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in
having new eyes.” You are the author of your life. You write your love story every day. Grab your pencil.
Cecily Cornelius-White, Psy.D. makes a habit of avoiding boredom whenever
possible. She has enjoyed careers as a hand model, GAP salesgirl, movie
projectionist, psychotherapist, yoga instructor, university professor, artist,
dance choreographer, eating disorders specialist, psych diagnostician, book
reviewer and copy editor. None of which are as much fun as writing
novels. She currently lives in Springfield, MO with two FABULOUS kids, a
schizophrenic yet well-mannered cat, and rockin' cool hamster named Merlin. She
can swear in Klingon, take down an alien aggressor using only her mind (or a
pair of chopsticks), and kill giant spiders without getting schmutz on her
shirt. When not singing to herself, she spends time creating new worlds
and thinking up ways to make this one better
.
Nobody said senior year was going to be easy, but I wasn’t expecting pure
hell, either. That’s right. HELL. Demons attacking. Cheerleaders
screaming. Vampires and werewolves asking where the bathroom is. Just another
day here at St. Michael’s Guardian Training Academy. It wouldn’t be so bad if
the administration would let me get back to my demon-slaying duties like every
other angelblood on campus. But with my bondmate Jack promoted to head trainer,
my annoying fiancé Luc trying to start a political uprising, and that pesky
prophecy still floating around predicting I’m going to kill everyone I
love...well, let’s just say “complicated” took on a whole new meaning.
But things are looking up. If I can survive Luc’s deadly Sovereign
Trials and keep my evil twin sister from starting a war, Jack and I might
actually have a chance of saving the world. If not, at least I won't have to
worry about what to wear to prom. All’s fair in love and war. Let the
games begin.
Comments
2 comments posted.
Re: Cecily White | Love and Other Stories We Tell Ourselves
Love this column....try to define love in all it's complexity... (Kathleen Bylsma 2:46pm April 7, 2016)
Wow. A lot to think about there. Reforming misunderstood bad boys reads great in fiction, but is likely to lead to heartbreak in real life. (Sharon Davis 5:14pm April 7, 2016)
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