I am a hopeless romantic.

In the words of Jessica Brown Findlay, “I am a hopeless romantic.” At first glance, these words seem light, almost playful, yet within them lies an ancient truth: to be a hopeless romantic is not to be lost, but to be found within the eternal flame of love. It is to believe, despite hardship, betrayal, or sorrow, that love is still the greatest treasure life can offer. It is to walk through the world with eyes that see beauty even in the ordinary, and with a heart that dares to hope when others have grown cold.

The ancients understood this condition of the heart. In the myth of Orpheus, the poet who ventured into the underworld for his beloved Eurydice, we see the essence of the hopeless romantic. He knew the dangers, he knew the near impossibility of his task, yet he journeyed anyway. Such is the heart that cannot help but believe in the power of love, even when reason counsels surrender. Though Orpheus failed in the end, his story endures through the ages—not as a tale of foolishness, but as a testimony to the nobility of loving without measure.

To be a hopeless romantic is often mocked by the world. The cynic calls it naïveté, the realist calls it weakness. Yet history proves otherwise. Consider Abelard and Héloïse, whose letters of love still burn with passion across the centuries. Their union brought them sorrow, exile, and loss, yet Héloïse confessed that she would rather have known love and endured its tragedies than to have lived without it. Such is the mark of the hopeless romantic—that they would choose one taste of true passion over a lifetime of comfort without fire.

Jessica Brown Findlay’s words remind us that to embrace this identity is not shameful, but courageous. To say “I am a hopeless romantic” is to declare that one’s heart will not be hardened by the disappointments of the world. It is to stand as one who still believes in handwritten letters, in chance encounters, in gazes across a crowded room that change the course of a life. It is to honor the ancient belief that love is not merely emotion, but destiny—that it can shape empires, inspire songs, and transform the human soul.

But the path of the hopeless romantic is not easy. It carries risk, for to love deeply is also to risk pain deeply. The heart that opens itself without guard is more easily wounded. Yet even here lies wisdom: for the heart that risks nothing gains nothing, but the heart that risks all—even if it breaks—discovers the fullness of life. Better a soul scarred by love than a soul untouched by it, for scars are proof that one has lived bravely.

The lesson for us, then, is this: do not bury your romantic heart for fear of pain. Let yourself believe in love, in beauty, in the possibility of wonder. Dare to be vulnerable, to speak with sincerity, to love without counting the cost. For while cynicism may protect you from disappointment, it will also rob you of joy. The ancients sang that love is both wound and balm, both fire and shelter; to embrace both is to live fully.

And what must you do in your own life? Begin by noticing beauty where others pass by. Speak words of affection without hesitation. Write the letter you fear is too sentimental. Look upon the beloved not with caution, but with awe. In so doing, you honor the wisdom of Jessica Brown Findlay’s declaration—you live as a hopeless romantic, not because you are blind to life’s sorrows, but because you are brave enough to love in spite of them. And in this bravery, you will find a joy that outlasts sorrow and a meaning that transcends time.