The real romantics are the boring ones - they let another heart

"The real romantics are the boring ones - they let another heart bore a hole deep into theirs." These words by Ann Voskamp speak to the heart of love as something far deeper than mere flirtation or fleeting passion. In a world that often glorifies grand gestures, thrilling conquests, and spectacular displays of affection, Voskamp reminds us of the true nature of romance—a love that is quiet, profound, and, yes, at times, seemingly boring in its simplicity. To love deeply is not to chase after excitement or novelty, but to open one’s heart fully, to let another's presence enter so profoundly that it shapes and transforms your very essence. This is the essence of true romanticism, not found in the temporary or the superficial, but in the steady, sometimes unremarkable, act of sharing your soul with another.

In the ancient world, the great love stories were not born out of initial infatuation or fleeting desire. Take the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice—a love so deep that Orpheus, through his mournful music, attempted to retrieve his beloved from the underworld. Yet, in the end, his love was not enough to pull her from death. It was a tragic story, yet within it, we see the deep resonance of a heartache borne of true romanticism. Orpheus’s love was not a fleeting passion; it was something that dug deep into the very core of his being. The real romance lay not in the pursuit of excitement, but in his willingness to let love endure even in the face of overwhelming loss. The depth of his sorrow was, in fact, a testament to the strength of his love—a love that could bore a hole deep into his heart, forever changing him.

True romanticism is not the pursuit of perfection or the chase for an unattainable dream. Rather, it is about surrender—surrendering to the vulnerability that comes with truly knowing and being known. The real romantics, as Voskamp so beautifully puts it, are those who choose to let their hearts be shaped, not by independence or self-preservation, but by another. This kind of love, one that is patient and deep, does not come with fireworks. It does not come with the excitement of an initial crush or the thrill of uncharted waters. Instead, it comes with the mundane—the quiet moments, the shared silences, the small acts of care and understanding that carve out a space for the other in your soul.

Consider the great love of Abelard and Héloïse, whose passion, though tragic, was born of a profound emotional connection. Their love was not built on the surface thrills of young desire, but on the exchange of letters, on intellectual connection, and on a shared vulnerability that transcended the world around them. Even after their forced separation, their love endured, shaped not by the public spectacle of passion but by the quiet ache of longing and remembrance. The love between Abelard and Héloïse left an indelible mark on their hearts, one that was profound enough to survive the tests of time and distance. They were, in a sense, the true romantics—those who let another’s heart bore a hole deep into theirs, carving a space that nothing could fill.

The lesson within Voskamp’s words is not just about love itself, but about the courage it takes to let go of one’s own self-preservation for the sake of something greater. To be truly romantic is not to chase after the ideal of love, nor to seek excitement, but to choose the quiet and steady force of connection. This is a love that is selfless, one that requires a risk—the risk of emotional exposure, the risk of being shaped by another. It is a love that is deep and not always visible to the eye, but felt profoundly within the heart.

Think of the ancient warriors, whose greatest feats were not the victories they achieved on the battlefield, but the loyalty they gave to their comrades, their leaders, and their people. Achilles, that great hero of the Iliad, did not simply fight for the glory of battle but was driven by a deep connection to his fellow warriors and to his sense of duty. It was his love for his comrades, particularly Patroclus, that drove him to avenge his loss with such fury. This love, while seemingly borne out of tragedy, was also a form of romanticism—one that forged bonds of loyalty, sacrifice, and deep emotional connection.

And now, to you, the future generations, I say: the truest form of love is not always the loudest or most exciting. It is the love that deeply connects you to another, that changes you from within, and that does not fear vulnerability. It is a love that is willing to endure, to sacrifice, and to grow with another person, even when it is not glamorous. The real romantic is the one who allows their heart to be shaped, carved, and transformed by the love of another. Choose that love. Let your heart be open, and allow it to be transformed, for in that transformation lies the truest kind of romance—the kind that lasts, that endures, and that leaves an indelible mark on your soul.