One of life’s greatest revelations came to me when I took a course on Spanish Romantic literature at McGill University. I had walked out of a bad breakup about a year or two prior and was still feeling sorry for myself at the time. I must have been about 20-21 years old. Yeah late bloomer. Anywho I minored in Hispanic Literature and Culture in order to keep up my recently acquired mastery of the Spanish language, which has severely deteriorated over the years, but that is another story for another time. A digression if you will.

The course was excellent. It was taught by a Catalan gentleman, who I thought had lots of class. He clearly liked and was liked by the ladies. We were perhaps 20 females and 3 males taking the course, so you know I felt pretty good every time I walked in.

We began reading story after story concerning men, and women who had fallen hopelessly in love with each other, but denied its reward. Either it was a priest and a woman, a commoner and a lady, or a playboy and some innocent, etc… Either way it was always soppy, tragic, and invariably ended with someone dying of tuberculosis, the death of a broken heart. Unique suffering, sensitivity, understanding, supernatural love, all these were recurring themes. The people in the stories were weak and pathetic. And then it dawned upon me that I was exactly the same.

My conclusion at the time lead me to the realization that extreme romantics become so obsessed with their unique sensitivity and lack of understanding from their peers, that it dominates their lives and ego. One can build self esteem exclusively based on their unique ability to feel, and when you are a romantic, the emphasis tends to be on suffering.

“I am misunderstood by humanity! The world is full of insensitive barbarians with no emotions comparable to mine! Look how great my sensitivity is! Look how evolved I am to be able to feel such powerful emotions! But somewhere, out there, there exists a kindred spirit who longs for the same things. Who feels and suffers as I do. And when we meet, we can turn our backs against those who are too blind to understand us. And we shall live our lives happily ever after, content in each other’s loving company!”

When your self esteem is built entirely on this sort of thing, you tend to feed off your depression, and get even more depressed. I realized at the time that I was basking in the glory of having been cheated on. For two years I appealed to the pity of others, which of course I didn’t get since being cheated on is no big deal these days, and the more people laughed at me, the more it strengthened my resolve. A very destructive loop indeed. I suffer therefore I am great, therefore I suffer.

I’ve spent years trying to take a more practical approach to life. I tried the opposite extreme of complete emotional mastery and apathy, but that also has strong negative repercussions such as being a dick to everyone around you. Bad idea guys. So now I’m somewhere in the middle. I have my sensitive side, but I don’t let it destroy my life. I’ll pout and complain maybe a little bit more than most people, but not nearly as much as before thank God.

I have since then, been dumped and dumped a couple people. In the immediate aftermath I always tended to feel sorry for myself, but I accept that as human nature. Understanding from another is a rare and difficult thing to achieve, and just as some relationships were meant to work, we also observe that most of those same relationships are meant to fail. I don’t know if true love exists, however I have ascertained with certainty that ‘chemistry’ does. And even if it is doomed to fail, the good times are always worth it. True happiness in life lies in experiences. If you bitch and complain all the time, you will never find a moment to enjoy life.

I believe that in this respect I have achieved balance. Booyah.