I'm a bit of a romantic.

In the words of Eric Bana, “I’m a bit of a romantic.” Though modest in tone, this statement unveils a profound truth: that to be a romantic is not to live in delusion, nor to dwell in weakness, but to carry within oneself a flame of hope, tenderness, and reverence for love. To admit it, even softly, is to confess that one’s heart is not hardened by cynicism but softened by belief—that beauty, connection, and devotion still hold sway over the soul. In this simple phrase lies an inheritance of ancient wisdom, for humanity has always honored those who saw the world not only with the eyes of logic, but with the vision of the heart.

The ancients themselves spoke with reverence of such souls. Plato wrote of eros, the force of love that drives us toward beauty, urging us to seek what is eternal in another’s eyes. The troubadours of medieval Europe sang to distant beloveds, raising love to the heights of worship. To be “a bit of a romantic” is to walk in this tradition—not always overwhelmed by passion, but always touched by its spark, willing to be moved by a gesture, a word, or a fleeting glance. It is to embrace life not as cold stone but as living fire.

Consider the story of Cyrano de Bergerac, the great swordsman and poet of France. Though mocked for his appearance, Cyrano was filled with romantic devotion, writing verses for the woman he loved, even when his words were given to another man to speak. His courage in battle was matched only by his courage in love, for though he suffered in silence, his heart never grew bitter. Like Bana’s quiet confession, Cyrano’s story reminds us that the romantic spirit is not boastful, but humble, willing to love even without guarantee of reward.

To be “a bit of a romantic” is also to see beyond the practical into the realm of meaning. A candle on a table is not merely wax and flame, but a symbol of warmth between two souls. A walk beneath the stars is not only exercise, but a communion with the eternal. This vision transforms the ordinary into the sacred. The romantic lives as though the universe itself participates in love—sunsets painted for lovers, music written for longing, time itself bending to honor devotion. Such a way of seeing does not deny life’s hardships, but redeems them by insisting that beauty remains.

Yet the path of the romantic is not without struggle. In a world that often prizes calculation, efficiency, and ambition above tenderness, the romantic heart may feel out of place. It risks mockery, disappointment, and the wounds of vulnerability. And still, it endures—for better to risk heartbreak than to live without the richness of love. The ancients themselves declared this truth: the heart that dares to love, even imperfectly, is greater than the heart that never opened at all.

The lesson here is clear: do not be ashamed of your romantic spirit, however small or “bit” it may seem. Even the quietest flame can warm another, even the simplest gesture can change the course of a life. To be romantic is to honor love as sacred, to resist the coldness of indifference, to declare that tenderness is strength, not weakness. Bana’s words remind us that even a modest confession can hold heroic truth: that in a hardened world, to be a romantic is to be brave.

And what must you do? Nurture your own romantic heart. Let it show itself in small acts of kindness, in words spoken sincerely, in gestures that elevate the ordinary into the extraordinary. Write the note, light the candle, share the laughter, walk beneath the stars. Do not let fear of ridicule silence your devotion. For in being “a bit of a romantic,” you become a guardian of hope in a world that desperately needs it—a bearer of the ancient flame that has always guided humanity toward beauty, tenderness, and love.