The Reading Today
• Source Material: Mere Christianity
My Reflection
In today’s entry, Lewis takes aim at the subtle, harmful expectations we absorb from fiction, plays, and popular music.
He points out that novels often convince people that if they have married the "right" person, they will remain in a state of romantic thrill forever. Consequently, when the initial excitement naturally fades, people assume they made a mistake and seek a change—not realizing that the new thrill will eventually fade just like the old one. He reminds us that thrills naturally belong to the beginning of things:
"...The sort of thrill a boy has at the first idea of flying will not go on when he has joined the R.A.F. and is really learning to fly. The thrill you feel on first seeing some delightful place dies away when you really go to live there."
He also challenges the notion that "falling in love" is an irresistible force that simply happens to us like the measles. He suggests that, as adults, we actually have a degree of choice in whether we allow a mild admiration for someone clever or attractive to turn into a runaway romantic obsession. If our minds are filled with sentimental media, we carve mental ruts that guide all our feelings into those dramatic channels.
Reading this hit a deeply familiar chord. As an only child, I spent a lot of time on my own, living vividly in my imagination. As I grew up and moved from children’s literature to adult books, I absorbed an idealized, highly unrealistic vision of love. I developed a conviction that there was a "tall, dark stranger" out there whom I simply had to track down, and that finding them would be the ultimate solution to my happiness.
Looking back, that mindset led to unsuccessful relationships. I was expecting a partner to magically heal my internal battles and provide complete immunity from pain. While fiction isn't inherently bad, perhaps these romance tropes ought to carry a health warning—much like tobacco or alcohol—given how easily they can set young minds up for disappointment and failure.
Now, later in life, I still enjoy romantic stories, but I have the benefit of viewing them without those rose-tinted spectacles.
(Note: A biographical footnote today mentions that in 1929, Lewis returned to Belfast to nurse his father during his final illness. It serves as a subtle reminder of what real, unglamorous love looks like: stepping away from dramatic feelings to perform the quiet, dutiful work of caring for someone in need.)
Why This Matters
Real life happens beyond the final chapter of a novel. Recognizing that media sells us an idealized fantasy allows us to stop demanding perfection from our partners and ourselves. Real love isn't an uncontrollable spell; it is a conscious, everyday choice.
My Action for Today
Today, I will practice appreciating the quiet, everyday realities of my life and relationships, enjoying fiction as simple entertainment rather than a blueprint for reality.
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