Romantic:

Adjective: Inclined toward or suggestive of the feeling of excitement and mystery associated with love.

Noun: A person with romantic beliefs or attitudes.

I have always thought of myself as romantic. From such a tender age I loved to hear my governess tell love stories, and to dream up my own. But then I grew up, and I discovered that this wonderful, comforting, happy part of me wasn’t necessarily something valued by society.

Consider, for a moment:

You admit to, or confess to, being a romantic.

You’re soppy.

You’re slushy.

You’re sentimental.

You’re a hopeless romantic.

Why does each of these sentences have negative connotations? Why do many, from mid-childhood onwards, tease others for being dreamy and romantic? Why is believing in love and passion seen as a weakness, something to be embarrassed about and ‘admit to’ sheepishly? Why are you a ‘hopeless’ romantic – surely that’s an oxymoron; the very foundation of romance is hope?

Earlier this week, I wrote about the Romantic poets: Byron, Coleridge, Blake, Wordsworth, Keats, Shelley. There was nothing ashamed in their poetry. Romance radiates from every word.

Why do we shun such romanticism today? Why is reality television more popular than the epic love stories of the past? Why aren’t we all reading romance novels and then attempting to make fact of fiction: creating the kind of heart-warming romantic moments we love to read about in reality, every day?

The answers, I suppose, lie deep within myriad societal issues. But that’s not to say we can’t make a change.

So the next time someone asks you what you’re going to see at the cinema, why not say confidently, ‘That new romance.’ And the next time someone asks you what you’re reading, say with your head held high, ‘A steamy, passionate, evocative romance novel.’ And the next time someone asks you about yourself, tell them with pride, ‘I’m a really romantic person.’