I have reached a point in my life where everything I once
believed in, or at least everything the Ted Mosby inside of me believed in, has
been shoved down the garbage disposal. Of course I’m talking about the death of
that big word driving every single one of us. The L-word.
For full effect, do not go and download anything from iTunes
and play at full volume throughout the duration of this post, because honestly,
this post is not really deserving of any kind of music whatsoever. All I want
you to hear is the emptiness in your front room, and the sound of your own
voice reading these blunt words in the front of your head.
By the way do not feel bad, do not turn on your motherly
instincts that worry too much, and do not get all sympathetic on me. Do not think
this post is deserving of any motivational/lift-up-your-heart-and-rejoice likes
or comments that are only worth less than three seconds of your time, or
whatever else you think is a gratification of my social media ego. Do not think
I am seeking your sorrow with this post. I am great. I am at peace. I am 100%
fine and dandy, and have a damn good life to boot.
However, yesterday I came to the sudden harsh realization
that love, or whatever word people often use once they are committed to a
serious relationship, is not real.
Love is in fact a business.
And here’s why.
A dear friend had a come to Jesus conversation with me
yesterday that lasted roughly eight minutes. And no, he wasn’t going all
“Intervention” with me or questioning my sexuality, nay, he was calling me out
for being too picky in choosing who I hope to settle down with for the rest of
my life. He was refuting my claim that I, one day will have a romantic story to
sit down and tell my kids over the course of nine seasons recounting to them
the heart-pulling drama of how I fell in love with their Mother.
Him: “That’s the thing Brock, that stuff doesn’t exist. It’s
not real. Love stories are great and all, but in reality, your relationship is
about being able to co-exist with someone. If you have the same hobbies as
another girl, you both enjoy each other’s company, you have the same religious
values, you both like each other’s families, and heck, she’s kind of cute,
anybody, and I mean absolutely anybody can make a marriage work. If they’re
willing to put the time and effort into it.”
Me: “But what about the way I feel about her? What about
when people say they have a rush of butterflies or warmth, or whatever they
call it when they see each other’s face? What about falling in love?”
Him: “That stuff is plain horse shit. You’ll feel it for a
little while and all, but the bottom line is that you can make a marriage work
with absolutely anyone. Because those feelings are not what a good marriage is
based on.”
Now I’m not an unintelligent moron who has some cockeyed
perspective and makes life-altering decisions based off an emotion, and I’m
also not saying that there is only one single person out there for me to be
with. But to think that love is just a business decision, and in the long run is
not based on any of the twitterpated feelings you get whenever you make eye
contact with them from across the room, to think that love is really just about
X’s and O’s, well…that’s…that’s just, MADNESS!
And then it hit me.
We can’t live off a rush of feelings and emotions. If we
did, we would fail as a society. Love really
is just a business decision. Those “feelings” you have for a woman will die. But
those business principles won’t.
Me: “So you’re telling me that any of the amazing girls I’ve
dated, girls who were jaw-dropping awesome on so many levels, girls like Lacey,
Brandi, Nikole, McCall, Jo, girls who have all now found greener pastures with
men who are better business decisions than I ever was, any one of those girls
would have made a great wife?”
Him: “Exactly.”
And that’s the depressing truth I’ve been drinking to every
hour since this conversation was dropped.
Now you may disagree and say that I’m a fool, and say that
love is more than just a business decision. Love is infatuation, and
excitement, and romance, and all of those other emotional rushes that people
get from watching “The Notebook” on a Saturday night. But let’s be honest,
those emotions will die and our true character won’t. If I’m going to find a girl
to spend the rest of my days with, I need to stop looking for someone who makes
me happy, and I need to start looking for a good business partner.
Call me immature, call me a jackass, call me whatever curse
word you want to, but the absolute, final, Ted Mosby-killing bottom line is
this:
Love is dead. Love is
business.
