“We imply, and often believe, that habitual vices are exceptional single acts, and make the opposite mistake about our virtues – like the bad tennis player who calls his normal form his ‘bad days’ and mistakes his rare successes for his normal.” — C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain
For most of the first twenty-five years of my life, I had a singularly undistinguished love life. I consistently found myself imagining a life with this one or that one, most of whom barely knew I existed. The thought often loitered in my mind: “If she only really got to know me, she’d realize that I’m perfect for her.” I would imagine the most improbable situations that would cause them to spend time with me, at the end of which they couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with my charm. Patrick Dempsey in Can’t Buy Me Love was my regular inspiration.
I have often felt something similar about various celebrities: from an article, an interview or a performance, I decide that “we would totally be friends.” Continue reading