People who know me are aware of my weakness for romantic comedies and, to a lesser degree, romances or those elements in things not otherwise of that genre.
Since we had marital problems, I developed a jaded view of such things. Not that I get to many movies anyway, and Meg Ryan’s heyday is long past. It got to where I couldn’t bear to watch something like that. I was inert in the face of sweet romance depictions, and cold to the idea of watching any.
This may even go back as far as the point when I gave up and stopped having serial crushes and being addicted to the feeling of being in love. After my final crush, still a friend, but then so are my first crushes, at least in Facebook terms of friends, I gave up. I didn’t expect ever to have anyone interested in me. I had all but never dated. I had never had someone I’d really have called a girlfriend, though a couple of them probably qualified briefly. I never learned what you do when you’re interested, and I was always too interested. I’d become convinced over the years that nobody could possibly want me, even thought there were elements both of self-fulfilling prophecy keeping me safely distant and my relatively autistic traits involved there.
Meeting the wife wasn’t especially romantic, though I tried to make it as much so as possible. It was an intellectual and philosophical match, long distance, helped by her boldness. Perhaps that was why our story, meeting and marrying through blogging, wasn’t as appealing as it could have been. Another blog friend was always surprised it hadn’t been picked up by the press or turned into some kind of a story somehow. It certainly isn’t romantic now, even though there might be love there, and a strong bond that makes it hard to imagine growing old apart. Older, at this point. Heh.
Still, the real distaste for the genre was worse in the past several years, and extended to the idea I simply couldn’t ever love romantically again, or have those feelings even in theory. On some level, because I never had a reciprocated romantic love, I have never learned how that works in practice. With something of an open relationship, in theory, she has told me now and then that I should meet someone, and it should be easy. I reject that out of hand because I just don’t know how. Despite having married and bred, I still find it hard to believe anyone could want me. Maybe more so, after things went sideways. I still, at my age, have trouble perceiving women as being either asexual, unromantic (men are definitely the more romantic gender, as far as I can tell), or worse. It remains a surprise to me when I see signs to the contrary, and I tend to discount anything that counters an opinion I formed early and often.
But I digress, it would seem. I popped back in to post this right after the Melody post because it was going to be quick and not take me away from other things for long.
I may have understated how long ago I discovered Melody. It might have been, say, a year ago. I pecked at it and thought it was cute in the bits I watched, but I didn’t see enough of it to get the whole story. Now I am in love with it. I think this relates to my recent thaw in attitude toward the genre, if not idea it could ever, or could ever have, happened to me. I always loved romantic songs, but have been much more into them recently, really feeling it. That movie and remembering back through my life, forlorn as it was in many ways, has only enhanced it.
I feel better knowing that one of my favorite types of films will no longer seem offputting to me. It comes along with a hopeful, optimistic attitude. That’s always better.