I'm into all that sappy stuff - a surprise picnic, nice dinner

The words of Will Estes, spoken with disarming simplicity, carry within them a profound truth about the human heart: “I’m into all that sappy stuff—a surprise picnic, nice dinner, or traveling. I’m kind of an old romantic.” Though he couches his confession in modest terms, here lies the timeless declaration of one who recognizes that love thrives not only in grand gestures, but in simple joys, those acts of thoughtfulness that transform ordinary days into cherished memories. To be an old romantic is to believe that the heart’s happiness is found in presence, intention, and devotion, not in spectacle or pride.

The ancients would have nodded in agreement. For they knew that love was strengthened not merely by heroic deeds on the battlefield but by the tender rituals of daily life. The Greeks held feasts, the Romans offered garlands, and the troubadours of the Middle Ages sang beneath windows not because such acts were necessary for survival, but because they gave love form and celebration. Estes’ “sappy stuff”—the picnic, the dinner, the shared journey—is but the modern echo of these ancient traditions, proof that the human soul has always yearned for love made visible through simple, thoughtful acts.

There is a humility in his words as well. To call oneself an “old romantic” is to confess a longing for a kind of love that is enduring, steady, and unashamed of tenderness. It is a rejection of the cynicism of our age, which often mocks gestures of sentiment as weakness. Yet in truth, such gestures are not weakness but strength, for they require vulnerability. To prepare a picnic or remember the little delights of another is to declare, “Your joy matters more than my pride.” This is the nobility of the romantic heart: the courage to love openly.

History gives us glowing examples of this spirit. Consider Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, whose marriage was filled with poetry, letters, and small gestures of devotion. Though Elizabeth was frail in health, Robert’s care and their shared rituals of affection sustained a bond that endured with beauty. Theirs was not a love defined by conquest, but by constant attention, by the willingness to make every day a liturgy of affection. Like Estes’ words, their story reminds us that love grows best when nurtured with simple acts of romance.

There is also wisdom in the mention of traveling. To journey with another is not only to share delight, but to endure trial. Roads are long, meals are uncertain, and yet the shared adventure binds two hearts together. The ancients likened life itself to a journey, and romance to the companion who walks at your side. To be an old romantic, as Estes describes, is to desire not just the destination, but the shared experience—the laughter, the stories, and even the difficulties that make the memory of the journey sweeter.

The lesson is clear: do not despise the small gestures of love. Do not believe that romance requires riches or grandeur. A simple picnic, a humble meal, a thoughtful surprise—these can carry more power than the costliest jewels, because they speak of attention, devotion, and care. Romance is not the abundance of wealth but the abundance of heart, and the old romantic understands this with clarity.

Therefore, let all who hear take action: cultivate romance not in rare occasions, but in daily gestures. Surprise your beloved with thoughtfulness. Share meals as sacred moments. Take journeys together, even if only a walk beneath the stars. Remember that it is not the size of the act, but the sincerity of the heart, that makes love flourish.

Thus Will Estes’ words, spoken lightly, carry the weight of timeless wisdom: to be an old romantic is to live love daily, through tenderness, simplicity, and devotion. May we, too, embrace the “sappy stuff,” for in it lies the eternal strength of the human heart.