Keeping Up with Keke: I Can Fix Him, Can't I?

Dear Diary,

I think I romanticize love a little too much.

Actually, scratch that.

I know I romanticize love too much.

Relationships, dating, falling in love, finding your person — all of it. I’ve built this very specific idea in my head of what love is supposed to look like, and I think part of the reason for that is because I’ve had a pretty extreme example of it right in front of me my entire life.

My sister, Willow, and her fiancé, Nico, have been together for thirteen years.

Thirteen.

I’ve known Nico since I was nine. At this point, he’s basically an older brother to me. I’ve watched their relationship grow up alongside me. I’ve seen the little things, the big things, the fights, the affection, the way they know each other, and the way that after all these years, they still choose each other.

Which is beautiful.

Unfortunately for every man who has ever tried to date me, it has also raised my standards to an almost unreasonable level.

I have a very specific idea of how I want to be loved.

I want someone thoughtful. Someone consistent. Someone who actually considers me when they make decisions. I want affection, reassurance, effort, romance, and all the stupid little things that people sometimes act like are unrealistic once you leave a rom-com.

And whenever I realize that a guy isn't giving me those things, you would probably assume I leave.

That would be the healthy response.

Naturally, I do the complete opposite.

I cling to them ten times harder.

Because somewhere in my brain, instead of thinking, maybe this person just isn't compatible with me, I think, he could be.

He just needs a little work.

A little guidance.

A little character development.

Suddenly I’m no longer dating a man. I’m overseeing a renovation project.

And I genuinely think this is one of the ways I self-sabotage when it comes to dating.

I become so attached to a guy’s potential that I stop paying attention to who he actually is.

I think about how sweet he could be. How good of a boyfriend he could become. How much better things could be if he communicated a little more, tried a little harder, became a little more thoughtful, or finally realized that I am obviously the love of his life.

Very normal and rational behavior.

And because I can see that imaginary future version of him so clearly, walking away feels like giving up on something that hasn't even had the chance to exist yet.

Which leaves me with a question I genuinely don't know the answer to:

Am I chasing a fantasy?

Part of me wants to say no.

Because I have seen the kind of love I want with my own two eyes.

I know there are men who remember the little things. I know people can stay obsessed with each other after years together. I know relationships can have effort, affection, friendship, loyalty, and romance all at once.

That isn't something Disney convinced me was real.

I've watched it happen.

But maybe knowing that kind of relationship exists doesn't mean I can create it with whoever I want.

Maybe there’s a difference between seeing potential in someone and trying to force someone into the role I’ve already written for them.

And I think that's the part I struggle with.

Am I helping someone become the boyfriend I know they could be?

Or am I taking a person who has shown me exactly who they are and trying to edit them until they fit into my idea of love?

Because if I'm being completely honest, I’m used to dating “project” guys.

There’s always something.

Something I wish they would do more of. Something I wish they would stop doing. Some level of effort I’m waiting for. Some imaginary future version of them that I’m convinced is just a few conversations away.

And then LG came along.

And he has me in a doozy.

Because he is the first guy I've dated where I don't really feel like there's anything I need to “fix.”

He just... treats me how I want to be treated.

Without me teaching him.

Without me dropping hints.

Without me having to explain why something matters to me ten different ways and hoping eventually it clicks.

Half the time when I tell him that something he did was sweet, he looks at it like it's nothing.

According to him, he's doing the “bare minimum.”

Which is slightly horrifying, because apparently my dating history has conditioned me to react to basic consideration like I've just been handed a bouquet of one hundred roses.

Maybe it's the extra couple years he has on me. Maybe he's just more mature. Maybe it's simply the kind of person he is.

But he thinks about what's best for me.

And that is such a simple sentence, but it means so much to me.

Sometimes he considers what might be good for me even when it isn't necessarily what I want to hear. He doesn't just think about what makes him happy in the moment.

I'm not used to that.

LG is the first guy I've dated where I can genuinely picture him being a serious, long-term partner.

And naturally, because I am me, this creates an entirely new problem.

What if I'm romanticizing him too?

What if I'm taking the way he treats me now and filling in all the blank spaces myself?

What if I've already created some perfect future version of our relationship in my head, and I'm falling for that instead of simply letting whatever this is unfold naturally?

I don't know.

Maybe the goal isn't to stop romanticizing love completely.

I actually like that part of myself.

I like believing in big love. I like wanting something deep and intentional and romantic. I don't want dating to make me cynical enough that I start pretending I don't care about those things.

But maybe I need to get better at separating standards from fantasies.

There is nothing wrong with knowing how I want to be treated.

There is nothing wrong with seeing the good in someone.

But I probably need to stop falling in love with potential.

Because maybe the right person won't feel like a project.

Maybe I won't have to train him into becoming the boyfriend I want.

Maybe I'll just meet him as he is and realize that, for once, I don't need to change the story.