The Truth about Butterflies

Anxious butterflies have served me well in the romance department. Not real life romance of course, but all the glorious romantic situations that constantly unfold in my head.

In my head, there are always dramatic plot twists, soaring musical scores and a mandated happily ever after. The heroine (that’s me), rarely makes a misstep and when she (I) does, it’s utterly adorable and forgivable. Her (My) missteps make her that much more endearing and lovable to the hero.

I have spent my fair share of time over the years trying to duplicate the perfect romance in real life. I have not always been successful (pause for uproarious laughter from those who know me), but I have never given up on those happy endings.

Anxiety, as I may have mentioned at some point in earlier posts, is a great tool to fuel the imagination. Since everything negative is amplified by the anxious spirit, I’ve always believed that the opposite holds true as well.

I am certain that I have had dragons slain for me, broken dozens of hearts, had ballads written about me, and forced many a poor soul into monkhood because they can’t have me. All of this while still maintaining the lovable girl next store image that all men secretly want and all women want to be. Every now and then I switch to the vixen role, but the results are usually disastrous and end with me either falling down or apologizing profusely.

At any rate, romance and anxiety go hand in hand because while I may be scared of the paperboy coming to the door, I have never been scared to chase those romantic dreams. I have never shied away from love (again, pause for uproarious laughter) and believe in forever, even after a few false starts.

My husband, Paul, is a prime example of this perseverance. When I was 14 and he was 18, I used to follow him around the mall, discreetly of course, most Saturdays. I felt sure that if he saw me, it would all be over and he would have to sweep me into his arms and ride off into the sunset. It didn’t matter to me that I was just starting grade 9, you can’t fight destiny.

Side note: when my friend Michelle and I would go into Big Boy’s after him and I asked to sit a few booths away so he “wouldn’t notice me” (didn’t want the spell to be broken too soon, you see), she brought it all back to reality as only she can, “Lori, he wouldn’t notice you if you sat in his lap.”

Hurtful, but in hindsight, I guess it was an appropriate statement since he likely could have been arrested if he took up with me at that time. Knowing that he obviously had to fight his feelings in accordance with the law at that time, just makes me appreciate him more now.

There are positives to living with sometimes crippling anxiety. That kind of intensity was made for romance! Just keep an eye on the creepy factor so as not to stumble into stalker territory.