I wish I could be excited for Valentine’s Day, but I feel romantically inadequate.
It was not always this way. There was a time when I enjoyed this holiday. In fact, that time only ended last weekend, when I first discovered these feelings of inadequacy. Allow me to share the story.
Last Saturday while taking the LSAT exam (the SAT for law school applicants), I was required to copy a paragraph-long oath of honesty onto my test booklet. It seemed so easy, just one paragraph. Then the proctor announced that all test-takers are required to write the oath in cursive. That would be fine, except I never learned how to write in cursive.
Possessing only a general sense that my pen should remain in contact with the page, I persevered. The result was disastrous – a sloppy hash of acute angles and indecipherable loops. As I looked down at the illegible ugliness, I had a horrifying realization: My poor penmanship leaves me handicapped in the world of romance.
At first glance, the correlation between penmanship and romance may seem weak, but any reader of “Pride and Prejudice” knows how well-written letters translate into love. However frosty her initial feelings toward Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth Bennet begins to change her mind after he writes her a letter. Darcy’s letter, handwritten and personally delivered, made possible his future engagement to Elizabeth.
“Pride and Prejudice” is one of literature’s greatest love stories. So it is only natural to compare all romantic endeavors with the story of Darcy and Elizabeth. For me, this comparison is especially unflattering.
Jane Austen describes Darcy’s letter to Elizabeth as being “written quite through in a very close hand.” I have no idea what that description means; but I suspect that Darcy’s “very close hand” is quite different from my own handwriting.
After observing the crudeness of my cursive, I had to answer a hypothetical question: Given the limitations of my handwriting, what would I have done if I found myself in Darcy’s position, needing to write to Elizabeth. I would have several undesirable options.
First, I could use my rudimentary cursive and write her in the same manner as Darcy. However, once she received my letter she would have a hard time deciphering my illegible handwriting. Moreover, my cursive is so unattractive that it would be a major turn-off.
Another option would be to forego cursive and print out my words, making sure my handwriting is clear. Unfortunately, this too would be a turn-off. When printed, the English language lacks the aesthetic beauty of other languages, like Arabic. Cursive adds a dash of elegance and beauty. Elizabeth is not the sort of girl to fall for a guy who cannot write with elegant cursive.
Finally, I could communicate in a more modern fashion and send Elizabeth a text message. But there is a profound difference between a “What RU up 2?” text and a handwritten letter. Again, this approach would almost certainly fail.
After analyzing all my options, I have concluded that without the ability to write elegant cursive, I can never be as romantic or attractive as Darcy. Hence, my feelings of inadequacy.
I could accept this romantic handicap; after all, Darcy sets quite a high standard.
I could blame my public school education, which failed to teach me this essential skill. And honestly, if I am 45 and single, I just might send angry letters to old teachers.
However, I would prefer to overcome this obstacle. But I cannot do it alone. Today, I invite the entire campus community to join with me in a campaign to reestablish the handwritten letter as a primary form of communication.
My proposal is modest: Commit yourself to writing at least one letter each month. This letter can be addressed to whomever, but it must be written in cursive.
So enjoy whatever Valentine’s Day plans you may have. As for me, I will be at home, alone, practicing my cursive. Maybe by next year my inadequacy will fade.
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Writing my way to romance
Daily Emerald
February 13, 2007
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