I'm one of those guys that - as far as relationships and stuff go

Hear the words of Norman Reedus: “I’m one of those guys that—as far as relationships and stuff go—if you smile at me, I’m like, ‘Let’s date for three years’—which is just ridiculous.” Though uttered with humor and self-awareness, this saying carries within it the deep truth of the human heart: how easily affection may spring forth, how quickly the soul longs for connection when touched by even the smallest sign of warmth. The smile, simple and fleeting, has power enough to stir visions of companionship, of intimacy, of years yet to be lived together.

The ancients, too, spoke of this sudden fire of attraction. In the writings of Plato, love is described as a madness, a divine frenzy, descending upon the heart without warning. A glance, a gesture, a single smile could strike like lightning, awakening within the beholder an entire future imagined in the blink of an eye. Reedus calls this impulse “ridiculous,” and indeed it is—but it is also profoundly human. For who has not, at some time, been carried away by the thought that a small kindness meant more than it did?

History gives us many such stories. Consider the tale of Henry VIII, who upon first seeing Anne Boleyn, was enchanted by her wit and her smile. In that spark of attraction, he imagined years of companionship and the promise of heirs. His infatuation would change the course of England, altering faith, politics, and dynasties. A single smile led to the birth of the Church of England, to wars of succession, to centuries of transformation. What Reedus laughs off as “ridiculous” has, in truth, altered the destinies of nations.

Yet his words also reveal vulnerability. To imagine a three-year bond from one fleeting moment is to show a heart eager for intimacy, quick to trust in the promise of affection. Some would call it foolishness, but there is also nobility in such openness. For the cynical heart, armored by suspicion, may never know the sweetness of love at first sight. Better, perhaps, to be wounded by one’s eagerness than to live untouched by passion. In this way, Reedus speaks not only for himself, but for all those who risk the peril of being too open in order to experience the fullness of human connection.

Still, wisdom teaches balance. To leap from a smile to a vision of years may be joyful, but it can also lead to disappointment if one confuses possibility with certainty. The ancients counseled moderation: Aristotle spoke of virtue as the mean between extremes. Just as too much caution can close the door to love, too much haste can set us on a path of heartbreak. Reedus, in calling his own impulse “ridiculous,” acknowledges this need for self-awareness—that passion must be tempered with patience.

The lesson for us, then, is clear: cherish the smile and the sparks of affection it brings, but let them be the beginning, not the whole story. Do not suppress your openness, for it is a gift to feel deeply and to hope boldly. But also learn to walk steadily, to let bonds form through time and trust. A smile may light the flame, but only care, respect, and shared trials will keep it burning through the years.

So let this wisdom endure: laugh at your own follies, as Reedus does, but honor them too, for they reveal the depth of your longing for love. Do not be ashamed if your heart runs ahead of reason—only learn to guide it, as a rider guides a spirited horse. For in the smile of another may lie the seed of joy, of growth, even of destiny. Treat it with wonder, treat it with wisdom, and you will find that what seems “ridiculous” is often the very essence of being human.