Life & Love · The Lori Diaries
At 30, I still believe in a little Disney magic. I like the dresses, the castles, the music, and the reassuring idea that somewhere in the middle of life's chaos, something wonderful might happen. What I'm less convinced about is the amount of effort some of these women put into finding their happily ever after. Snow White survives a murder attempt. Ariel gives up her voice. Cinderella has to flee a ball before midnight. And Aurora? Aurora takes a nap. I realise this is an incredibly unfair way to summarise four fairy tales, but I can't help noticing that Sleeping Beauty might have the most appealing schedule.
I grew up loving Disney films. I still do.
There's something comforting about returning to a story where the dresses are beautiful, the animals are unusually helpful, and the ending usually arrives with a kiss and a very enthusiastic orchestra.
Real life could use a little more of that, if you ask me. Especially the helpful animals.
But watching these films as an adult is a different experience. I notice things that didn't particularly concern me when I was younger. Who makes the effort? Who gives something up? And why does finding love occasionally seem to require a woman to survive an extraordinary number of inconveniences?
I'm not about to hold a children's fairy tale responsible for every romantic decision I've ever made. That would be giving Walt Disney rather too much credit.
Still, there's a particular story about love that I think many of us have carried into adulthood: if you want something badly enough, you should keep trying until it works.
A lovely idea when you're learning to ride a bicycle.
Slightly less lovely when you're trying to convince another person to be interested in you.
Some Princesses Really Went Through It
Let's begin with Snow White.
The poor girl escapes a stepmother who wants her dead, takes refuge in a cottage with seven strangers, and somehow ends up doing the housework. Then she accepts an apple from a suspicious woman and falls into an enchanted sleep.
I know the prince isn't the reason any of this happens. Snow White has much bigger problems than dating. But watching it now, I can't help thinking that after everything she's been through, a peaceful holiday would have been a perfectly respectable happy ending.
Somewhere quiet. Good food. Absolutely no fruit baskets.
Ariel, meanwhile, has an entirely different situation.
To be fair to her, she was fascinated by the human world long before Prince Eric came along. She wanted to see what existed beyond the life she knew, and I can understand that feeling.
I can also understand having a crush that makes ordinary common sense temporarily unavailable.
But giving up your voice in a deal with a sea witch so you can spend time with a man you've barely spoken to?
That's quite a lot to put on the line for someone who hasn't even had the chance to disappoint you over coffee yet.
The older I get, the more that detail stays with me. Not because I think Ariel shouldn't have followed her curiosity or fallen in love. I just wish she hadn't had to lose her voice along the way.
I'd like to think there's a version of the story where she gets to explore the world, meet Eric, and still have something to say for herself.
Preferably without Ursula handling the paperwork.
And then there's Cinderella.
She spends her days being treated terribly by her stepfamily, finally gets the chance to enjoy one wonderful evening, and has to leave the party in a panic because her outfit comes with a very strict return policy.
She loses a shoe, and the prince begins what might be the most ambitious footwear investigation in romantic history.
I actually have a soft spot for that part of the story.
Cinderella doesn't spend the next morning knocking on the palace gates to explain that she was the mysterious woman at the ball. The prince is the one who goes looking for her.
Yes, using a glass slipper as your only clue raises several practical questions. But at least the man follows up.
He met someone he liked, she disappeared, and he made an effort to find her again.
I'll admit it: I respect the initiative.
And Then There's Aurora
Aurora is where my extremely serious Disney analysis takes an interesting turn.
While everyone else is escaping danger, negotiating with witches, or trying to get home before their clothes turn back into household objects, Aurora is asleep.
Not by choice, obviously. She's under a curse, and the people around her are dealing with a very real emergency.
But from the perspective of someone watching the film after a long week, I have to say that a hundred years without emails sounds almost suspiciously peaceful.
Prince Phillip fights a dragon. The fairies work their magic. Aurora wakes up.
The girl hasn't spent the entire story trying to persuade him to choose her.
Again, I'm aware that being placed under a sleeping curse is hardly a sensible dating strategy. I wouldn't recommend it, even if your calendar is particularly full.
But the joke leaves me with a question I find more interesting than which princess had the easiest love life.
Why do we sometimes behave as though love is something we can earn by trying harder than everyone else?
Making an Effort Isn't the Same as Chasing
At 30, I'm not interested in pretending that I don't care about romance.
I like the butterflies. I like the first conversations, the anticipation of seeing someone again, and the ridiculous little smile that appears when a particular name lights up my phone.
I like romance enough that I don't want to turn it into a competition over who can appear less interested.
If I like someone, I can start a conversation. I can suggest meeting for coffee. I can tell him I had a lovely time and would like to see him again.
None of that embarrasses me.
What I don't want is to become the only person making sure something happens.
There's a difference between sending the first message and sending every message. Between suggesting a date and being the person who always has to make the plan. Between giving someone a chance and spending weeks trying to understand why they never seem to take one.
I don't need a grand romantic gesture. A man doesn't have to battle a dragon or travel through an entire kingdom with a shoe.
Although, if he wants to organise dinner without asking me to choose the restaurant, the date, the time, and the precise number of minutes he'll be late, I certainly won't object.
I think what I'm looking for is much less dramatic than the stories I grew up with.
I want to feel that the other person is curious about me, too.
That he remembers things I've said. That he wants to spend time together. That if I make a little room for him in my life, he'll make a little room for me in his.
Not because love should be an exercise in keeping score, but because there's something lonely about trying to build a connection entirely on your own.
I don't mind making the first move. I just don't want to be responsible for every move that follows.
I Still Want the Fairy Tale. Just a Different Version.
I don't think turning 30 has made me cynical about love.
If anything, it's made me more particular about what I find romantic.
When I was younger, it was easy to be swept up in the idea of a grand gesture. Someone crossing an ocean, showing up unexpectedly, or making a dramatic declaration in the rain.
I still enjoy those scenes in a film. Please don't take them away from me.
But in real life, I'm increasingly drawn to the quieter things.
Someone who follows through. Someone whose interest doesn't disappear the moment I stop doing all the work. Someone I can be excited about without also feeling as though I need to solve a puzzle every time my phone rings.
I want a relationship in which both people get to have their own lives, their own plans, and their own ambitions, while still making a genuine effort to be part of each other's world.
There should be room for independence and tenderness. For excitement and ordinary Tuesdays. For making the first move and occasionally being the person someone else moves towards.
And perhaps that's the lesson I want to take from these fairy tales now.
Not that the right person will magically appear if I do nothing, and certainly not that I need to change everything about myself to be loved.
Just that I don't have to confuse effort with struggle.
If something wonderful happens, I want to be present for it. I want to be brave enough to recognise it and open enough to let it grow.
But I don't want to spend so much time searching for a prince that I forget to enjoy the life I'm already living.
So, no, I'm not taking Aurora's approach literally. I have things to do, places to go, people to see, and no intention of sleeping through the next hundred years.
I still believe in romance. I still believe in taking chances, making the first move, and allowing myself to care about someone without pretending otherwise.
I just don't believe I should have to carry the entire story to its happy ending by myself.
I'll keep living my life, making my plans, and leaving a little room for the unexpected. If a wonderful man finds his way into it, lovely. I hope he says hello. But he can find his own way out of the forest.
Which Disney princess did you love most growing up, and do you see her story differently now? I'm especially curious whether anyone else has developed a new appreciation for Aurora's approach to a busy schedule.
xoxo,
Lori
Post a Comment