The Importance of Romanticizing Yourself
By Devna Panda with art by Alex Kozak
I can not remember precisely when I first became so enamored with the concept of romantic love, but I do have some recollection of how. Well before I saw “When Harry Met Sally", I was watching “Hum Tum” (translation: Me and You), the first Bollywood remake of Nora Ephron’s cinematic masterpiece. The portrayals of love in Hindi movies: relationships brewing between two individuals through stolen glances and flushed cheeks were my first exposure to the ideas of longing and infatuation.
Perhaps, this influence explains why every crush I had for the next decade or so wholly consumed my being, various scenarios involving them constantly taking shape in my mind.
Inspired by Miss Lara Jean Covey herself, I decided to write letters to process my feelings for my paramours. I would analyze exactly why I felt such profundity of emotion for these individuals, and I remember consistently coming up somewhat short in my reasoning. Though I could articulate what it was that drew me toward someone, I could never understand how these fairly common qualities could possibly translate to such strong feelings, leaving me dumbfounded. The answer was rooted in my tendency to romanticize (my true Achilles heel). And perhaps, as Melissa Broder describes it in “Life Without Longing”, I was more enchanted with the act of longing itself than any specific individual.
As I have grown up, I have been confronted by how unreasonable it is to view another person in such a rosy light when they are likely undeserving of this perception. In contrast, when thinking about myself for much of my life, I would gloss over my positive qualities and fixate on the ways in which I did not see myself measuring up to others. If I had something going for myself, I always chalked it up to mere circumstance or simply valued it as less valuable than the positive aspects of other people’s lives. When someone complimented me, I could never fully embrace the idea that they might have genuinely meant what they said. And yet when I consider the way in which I viewed romantic interests, I would nearly always dismiss their negative attributes and focus single-mindedly on all of their favorable characteristics—real or imagined. Neither method is healthy, so perhaps adopting a happy medium as a mindset would be ideal.
In the autumn of 2022, I was playing one Orion Sun song incessantly: while getting ready, when walking into a lecture hall, etc. The song is essentially about how the singer wants the feeling of being unable to stop thinking about someone else to be reciprocated by them. The song’s chorus includes the lyric: “I just want to be the one you dance with.” I had listened to this song so many times that I had practically internalized this line. This past New Year's Eve, aat the party I attended, I noticed that I did not feel free enough to dance unless someone else was dancing with me. Upon having this realization, I imagined directing this song to myself rather than another individual. What if I could be happy to dance alone? What if I perceived myself in the rosy light that I had grown accustomed to seeing other people in?
On New Year’s Day, I wrote myself a letter, describing all of the many characteristics I admire about myself and considering why I am worthy of romanticization. I don’t know that I believe in New Year’s resolutions, but I have resolved to extend the kindness and indulgence I give to other people to myself.