Everyone has their Christmas traditions. Mine includes watching/rewatching the movie “Love Actually.”
I’d like to say I reserve this tradition just for Christmas, but I don’t. It’s in my top five favorite movies, so not only do I own it on DVD, but I see it in the theater when it’s playing during the holidays, and I’ll sit through any showing on TV.
If you’ve never seen it, “Love Actually” follows several characters through nine different interwoven storylines that intersect sometime around Christmas. Each story, in its basic form, is about love: first love, unrequited love, the love of a child, lost love, the love of a good friend. And, with any good love story, there’s heartbreak, too, because as we all know, not all love stories have happy endings.
Last week, ABC celebrated the 20 year anniversary of “Love Actually” with "The Laughter & Secrets of 'Love Actually,' 20 Years Later: A Diane Sawyer Special." I’d clearly lost track of time because it didn’t seem like it had been 20 years since I’d first seen it in the theater. I loved it so much then, that I saw it twice in one day.
In a word, “Love Actually” is simply: relatable. It’s been around for a good portion of my adult life and I find that I can connect to many of the characters as they explore love in its different stages.
One of those moments happened when I saw it in a theater in 2019. I’d just been through a divorce the year before and was still dealing with the aftermath. There’s a scene where “Karen,” played by Emma Thompson, realizes that her husband, “Harry,” played by the late Alan Rickman, has been unfaithful. She stands in their bedroom, tears streaming down her cheeks, while Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now” plays on CD. The camera catches a glimpse of the couple photographed together, presumably during happier times. Karen quickly straightens up, wipes her tears, fusses with her clothes and takes a deep breath before putting on a smile and shuttling the children off to a Christmas play, as if nothing had ever happened.
I sobbed hard that night. There had always been a few couples in “Love Actually” that I couldn’t relate to, but at that moment, I connected with Karen. The idea that a once happy life, built on the mutual agreement to love, honor and cherish one another, could fall apart so easily, well, I felt that.
No other storyline in “Love Actually” had ever gotten to me like that. I’d watched that scene hundreds of times but in that moment, it finally resonated. That was undoubtedly director Richard Curtis’ goal. In the ABC special, Curtis said he was proud that the movie’s message touched people in this way. Thompson said, “Love Actually” reminds us that, in “all its messiness, and its unexpectedness, that you'll find love in the weirdest places.”
A Plot Twist
It was three years ago tonight when I last saw “Love Actually” in the theater. It was date night and I was there with my then-boyfriend, Jon. We’d been together for well over a year so he knew what he was in for going to a rom-com with me. He’d also seen the movie so the story was familiar to him, as well. Together, we laughed out loud at the funny parts and he held my hand while I cried at the sad ones.
I first met Jon in 1994. We were coworkers at a small publishing company in Des Moines, but we didn’t really know each other outside of the office. He was cocky and overconfident, as a lot of 20 somethings are, and I wanted no part of that. He had his circle of work friends and I had mine, and aside from the occasional happy hour downtown, we didn’t really spend time socializing with one another.
Over the years, I’d almost forgotten about Jon. Coworkers come and go and it’s easy to overlook those you weren’t close to. Still, he and I worked in the same industry and the community in Des Moines is small. It’s still a shock to both of us that we never crossed paths at a conference or networking event.
That changed in July of 2018. Fresh off my aforementioned divorce, I decided to dip my toes in the dating pool. I wasn’t looking for a relationship—with all I’d been through, I thought I’d use the time to decompress, refocus and help my kids navigate their new reality.
But when you’re suddenly single, everyone has dating advice, no matter if you want it or not. One friend suggested I join a gym, another said church, while others said online dating was the way to go.
Again, I wasn’t looking for a relationship. I was interested in good conversation and maybe friendship, but that was as far as I was willing to go. I was still healing from the heartbreak of my marriage. I couldn’t imagine ever being serious with anyone again.
Ever the optimist, I joined Bumble which, according to its website, “was first founded to challenge the antiquated rules of dating, and made it not only necessary but acceptable for women to make the first move, shaking up outdated gender norms.”
I appreciated Bumble’s philosophy. As a newly-single woman, I needed to feel safe and respected if I was going to put myself out there again. I liked that I could control who I allowed into my DMs and how those conversations went. Everything is kept on Bumble’s messaging platform until you decide to take things offline, meaning none of my personal information would be shared with a match until I shared it.
Bumble was great, for a short time, but my heart just wasn’t in it. I was days away from ditching my account altogether, when I came across Jon’s profile. I recognized him almost instantly, swiped right and sent him a message. I had no intention of actually dating him. I just thought that if I knew someone else on Bumble, that we might be able to share in the agony that is online dating.
Jon returned my message hours later. I’d asked if he remembered me. He did. We talked about what had transpired in the years since we’d last seen one another. There were job changes and life changes. We’d both married and divorced. Both of us had children. Neither of us liked the dating life.
We agreed to catch up over lunch. It was only an hour, and it flew by with neither of us really touching our food. We talked about our kids and our jobs, where we’d been and where we wanted to go. We shared a love of music and talked about concerts we’d been to and others we wanted to see. The conversation was effortless and I found myself softening at the idea that maybe this was more than a friendship.
We started dating not long after that lunch, but moved slowly through the relationship. We took our time getting to know each other and meeting each other’s friends and family. We were both cautious about next steps and respectful of one another’s needs.
In early 2020, we’d decided to move in together, a decision that was met with approval from all four of our children. We’d found the perfect house and then Covid happened, making us wonder if a virus would somehow thwart this next stage of our journey. Thankfully, it didn’t.
Love after divorce, especially later in life, is just different. It doesn’t follow the same playbook you used in your 20s, when the college/marriage/children route was the norm. You get to buck the expectation of others and forge your own path. Whether that means embracing a life alone, living with a partner or remarrying, it’s entirely up to you.
One night about a month before we closed on the house, I decided to show Jon just how serious I was about our commitment. We both agreed that marriage *might* be in our future but neither one of us was rushing to the altar. We loved each other in ways no one else had ever loved us, and that was enough.
The week before we took possession, while sitting on the floor of my empty living room, I sent a text to Jon. I’d recorded a video using cards like the ones Andrew Lincoln’s character, Mark, used in that infamous scene in “Love Actually,” asking him to marry me. As he watched, I got down on one knee, ring in hand, and asked again. He said, “Yes.” It was love, actually.
What Inspires Me?
If you’ve ever watched Steve Hartman on CBS Sunday Morning, you know his storytelling ability has the power to make you cry. This morning, he interviewed Jeanne Gustavson, who four decades later, reunited with the man her family refused to let her marry because of his skin color. Their love story is an inspiration.
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