As a rule I do not watch or read anything related to Nicholas Sparks. Frankly, his stories leave me nauseated. Quite simply, life (and love) do not work in the “real” world as they do in Mr. Sparks’ plot lines: male and female, one of them undoubtedly broken and, therefore, ridiculously vulnerable, fall in love; some sort of achingly sweet romance, then one of them dies, or at least someone dies. Someone ALWAYS dies. (Why does someone always die, Mr. Sparks? Why? Why?????)
I broke my own rule the other night. Why? I was bored; I was lonely; I’d canceled cable, and now have Apple TV. I’d seen everything else that seemed even remotely tolerable. I‘m out of excuses; so, I’ll just confess that I watched one of Mr. Sparks’ latest cinematic efforts at convincing us that love is not effort, choice, or action but simply a force of nature. And I wasn’t disappointed; nope, I got exactly what I’d expected – 2 hours, give or take a few minutes, of starry-eyed, star-crossed lovers. As the inevitable tragic ending faded into the credits, and I was wiping the tears from my eyes, (Just because it nauseates me does not render me immune. I’m a girl. What can I say?), I began to wonder how damaging Mr. Sparks’ view of love could be to “real” world relationships.
I think it comes down to our expectations of people and how “romantic” movies alter those expectations. What do I believe that a man should be and do? What do men in this world believe that women – that I – should be and do? Please understand, I completely comprehend that Mr. Sparks is not the sole delinquent liable for our skewed perspectives on relationships standards, but he and his ilk certainly contribute to them. It’s time to get things straight, to know what is reasonable, what is responsible when we consider someone else’s role in our lives.
Do I want someone to tell me that I am beautiful and desirable then dance with me in our moonlit kitchen to a song only we can hear? Sure, who doesn’t? But do I need that? Probably not. Do I need someone to wrap his arms around me when the world crashes down, as it inevitably does from time to time; someone to hold me when I’m terrified because something major in my life has shifted, and I don’t know what tomorrow will look like? (Well, apparently not because I don’t have it now, and I’m still walking and breathing, but work with me here.) I both want it, and in a relationship I believe I’d require it. What’s the point of having a relationship if you can’t count on that sort of support? The first, the dancing in the moonlit kitchen, that is romance and desire, something that comes and goes, and, in a good relationship, will find its way back again. It’s fleeting and chemical. That’s Mr. Sparks’ stylized portrait of love. The second, the arms of shelter, a harbor in a storm, that’s a deliberate statement, a completed, consistent decision you make every single day of your life to uphold a commitment to be the other half of someone else. That’s God’s idea of love; it’s also my idea of love.
Romance is fabulous and has its place. I like romance. I like flowers and spontaneous gifts and phone calls for no reason, but I’m old enough (and hopefully wise enough) to recognize that romance is an entirely different creature than love. Romance – mystical, mythical, beautiful, even ethereal, proves unsustainable when the chips are down. Romance doesn’t get the bills paid, the dog fed, the toilet cleaned, and the dishes done when one of you is ill or frozen in fear. Romance dances gracefully out the door.
Love holds fast when darkness comes knocking in any of its many forms. When miscarriage or infertility pin you to the floor, love reaches out and says I’m still here. When disappointment so vast that the Sargasso Sea seems small by comparison crashes over you, love reaches down and pulls you from the waves. When illness crouches at the foot of the bed, love wipes your fevered brow. Love, as a decision, as a commitment proves to be the eternal flame that out-sparks even Nick himself.
Love as God designed or romance as Nick writes? I know which one I’d rather have.
The Unexpected Life 