Live-For-Me Kind of Love

“Mon Soleil”, written by Freddy Wexler, sung by Ashley Park, featured in Emily in Paris is one of my favorite songs. Heard it on repeat this week.

Though, while I think the song is beautiful in many ways and I agree with most of its sentiment, the one thing I did not enjoy was the notion of dying for a loved one.

Rather than “Say you’d die for me, baby”, had the song said “Say you’ll live for me, baby”, it would have been a thousand times more romantic.

Dying for someone is never romantic.

But Wexler isn’t the only one to get caught up in the trope of a Die-For-Me kind of love. Long before Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet and long after James Cameron’s Titanic, and for all the time and space in between, for centuries, people have said that if you truly love someone you’ll be willing to die for them. But rather than being romantic, this notion is heartbreaking and morbid.

The other day, while describing the kind of person I want to be in a relationship with and the kind of relationship I want, I told one of my friends:

I believe that when you’re in love, you’ll feel like every day is yours to seize to the fullest. We all have our good and bad days, but when in love, even the bad days won’t seem the worst. And when you’re in that kind of love the last thing you want to say is “Say you’d die for me, baby”. Because what does that say?

I get it, I get it — it’s about the notion that if you love someone you’ll go to the ends of the earth to protect them. Which is great on a symbolic level. But what happens when people start taking it literally?

I recall one conversation from only a few short months ago with a group of friends: Would you or would you not sacrifice your life to save a loved one?

Hands-down No-doubt-about-it No.

I would not.

They gave me about ten different scenarios with ten different kinds of loved ones (parents, children, spouses, etc., etc.) And for every scenario my answer was the same: I’ll call 9-1-1, I’ll yell “Help!” at the top of my lungs, but I’m not gonna fling myself off the edge of a boat when I know I’ll drown.

And let’s be real for a minute: Hypothetically, sure, we’d all love to say we’d fling ourselves off the boat. But who would really?

I wouldn’t. And I have no reason to pretend I would.

I’ll go to the ends of the earth to protect someone, to make them happy, to make our lives worthwhile. But not at the expense of my physical life. Not happening.

So I definitely don’t expect it from my loved ones.

I don’t want people dying for me. I want them to live for me. Live by me. Live with me.