What Is Real Romance?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about romantic places. What’s the most romantic place you’ve ever been? My husband and I just got back from ten extraordinary days in Italy. It’s a trip that’s been on our bucket list for years, and we finally got to go, just the two of us. Italy is, quite frankly, the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. It made me wonder if there is a human capacity for beauty; can we ever get used to it? Get tired of it? I don’t think I ever could.

We stayed in an apartment in a tiny mountain village on Lake Como that overlooked soaring Alpine peaks, including a castle right outside our window.

We stayed in a 600-year-old nobleman’s manor house in Parma, which was just as lovely and luxurious as it sounds.

Then we moved on to a tiny apartment in the Cinque Terre. Our balcony overlooked crashing turquoise seas surrounded by lush mountain vineyards. From the moment I woke up, I didn’t even have to get out of bed to take in the incredible vista. (I know, right?)

We got to experience what are, arguably, some of the most romantic places in existence. I’ve seen a lot of traditionally romantic places over the years. I’ve been to the top of the Eiffel Tower and looked out over Paris. I’ve watched more sunrises over the ocean than I can count. And while these things can be delightful, I don’t think they hold a candle to the most romantic places in the world.

For me, the most romantic places I’ve ever experienced have been a little more gritty. Like the hospital bathroom right after the birth of our son, where my husband tenderly helped me into the shower while wiping up the bloody footprints I left across the tile floor.

Or when, in a fog of utter exhaustion, my husband woke up with me for every single midnight feeding so that I didn’t have to face them alone.

Or after I had a very gross and unpleasant surgery (I’ll spare you the details), and my husband had to change my dressings and pack my wounds several times a day for weeks, which he did without the slightest hesitation or hint of disgust.

In thirteen and a half years of marriage, I’ve learned that real romance doesn’t reside in scenic vistas, expensive gifts, or grand gestures (though there’s absolutely nothing wrong with those things). Real romance is found in the nitty-gritty day-to-day, the inescapable loop of routine that is not always pretty and is rarely glamorous. For me, real romance is found in those dark, sometimes dirty places. In unfamiliar bathrooms. In the middle of sleepless nights. Next to a hospital bed. On long, exhausting road trips with screaming babies in the back seat. The most profound romance can be found in the messiest moments of our lives. I am thankful to God for a man who shows me love with skin on in the ugliest, messiest, dirtiest, moments of our life together. That’s the real thing. That’s what we should be dreaming about as little girls, rather than fairytale castles and glass slippers.

On that trip to Italy, my husband and I stood on top of a mountain as the sun sank beneath the waves of the Mediterranean and renewed our vows. We wore sweaters and sneakers. I held a bouquet of clover and dandelions I’d picked from the edge of the trail. It was just us. It was absolutely perfect. And yes, it was incredibly romantic.

Kimberly Poovey is a writer, speaker, wife, and over-caffeinated toddler mom. After 10 years in the nonprofit world, she now writes full-time. You can find her on Scary Mommy, The Mighty, The Natural Parent, Parent Co, and Her View From Home. She loves Jesus, long walks on the beach, honey habañero lattes, and Zoloft. Her website is kimberlypoovey.com.