I Made It Rain Before, I Can Probably Do It Again

I finally finished How I Met Your Mother. I think it’s hilarious that this show is one of the most recurring topics in this blog. But what can I say, it’s been an important part of my life. And guess what guys…

***I have to say it***
I liked the ending.

I think I saved myself from the disappointment by binging it. If I was watching it week to week, year to year, only for the last 10 minutes to undermine the perceived plot of the show, I’d probably be pissed too. However, the funny part is that I did watch it week to week way back when the last season was airing. I was 16. I used to watch it with my first girlfriend, Codename: Winterwood. It was our “thing.” We’d sit on the couch at her parents’ house and watch HIMYM together. I loved that, back then – the simple act of sharing a show with someone you love. I had never experienced that before. The lyric in “Losing A Whole Year” about being stuck with the tube didn’t seem tragic to me yet. What do you mean “stuck with”? The tube is awesome. I also don’t know what AquaLube is. This song is awesome!

When Codename: Winterwood and I broke up, we were about 3 episodes from the HIMYM finale. You can look up the dates and it tracks – we broke up a little after mid-winter break, which happens mid-February, putting our demise somewhere around the airing of S9E20 “Daisy.” After we broke up, I couldn’t bring myself to finish the show. It was ours – how could I do it without her? I saw this as some sort of pubescent martyrdom, the proof of my heartbreak, a romantic rejection of the sunk cost fallacy. 9 seasons worth of sitting on that couch was not for nothing.

***I’ll never found out how Ted met the Mother***
THAT’S how much I loved you.

To be honest, I held onto that sacrifice for the next 10 or so years. Any time someone brought up HIMYM, and the inevitable discussion of the contentious ending, I had a pre-packaged response ready to go. “Yeah, me and my ex watched it together, but we broke up right before the end so I never actually saw it.” It became an integral part of my romantic narrative, weirdly enough. I saw that first relationship, and that first shared experience with someone else, as something sacred that I didn’t want to mar with reality. I suppose I found the idea of HIMYM having a bad ending a little bit too on the nose. It seemed a little forced, no? That my love story should end up just as ugly as the show that defined it? In a way, sheltering myself from the ending preserved the illusion that was shattered by the break up. No, I would never have that magical storybook ending with my first love. That’s just reality – I can deal with that. What I could not deal with was that there’s no magical storybook ending even in the most romantic, idealized, fictionalized version of our world. I had to keep on believing. I had to believe this heartbreak wouldn’t be the end of me. I’m only 16 – there’s still another love story out there. Look how many people Ted had to meet before he found who he would end up with. He didn’t let one failure stop him.

***My first critical mistake in dating***
Identifying with Ted Evelyn Mosby.

Watching the show again as an adult, I was amazed at how many ideas of love I had learned from HIMYM. I guess in the 10 years since, the memories of the show had faded, or maybe I had repressed them along with the heartbreak, but the lessons I learned from Ted had remained. Or, I suppose, had remained. Honestly, after my most recent breakup, I’ve sorta stopped believing in the magic of it all. But not for lack of trying. I’ve been dating, yes, and having a lot of fun. Found a few women I like. But none of them that would make me want to double back in the cab and grab the blue French horn. I must have subconsciously started watching HIMYM again to try and remember what that feels like.

It was like a time capsule. I would laugh at Ted’s starry eyed optimism and reminisce on how strongly I used to replicate him. I thought of all the big romantic speeches I had given to the girls in my life. Remembered all the crazy grand gestures. To ask Codename: Winterwood to junior homecoming, I had a friend give her a pirate map of her school with only the first clue mapped out. She’d go to it, receive a clue from another friend, and add it to the map, all eventually leading to a treasure chest in her sixth period Spanish class that I was hiding inside of dressed as a pirate. I didn’t even know this teacher, I didn’t even go to this school. I skipped an entire day to orchestrate this, just to ask her to homecoming. Of course I did – I was in love.

Almost a decade later I took a 12 hour flight to see a girl for about 6 hours. At the airport, the TSA agent was curious why I only had a backpack for a trip to London. I said I was just popping over. I barely slept on the flight – too much coffee. I rode the train for an hour to her place, let myself in, and waited for her to get off work. I was exhausted but did my best to ask her about her day. She was overworked but did her best to tell me. We watched Gogglebox and pretended like the physical distance between us wasn’t smaller than the distance between us on that couch. We went to bed and then I woke up the next morning, rode the train back to Heathrow, and took another 12 hour flight home. Another hour Uber back to my place and slept for a week. I did all of this, just to see her for a few hours. Of course did – I was in love.

My first relationship and my last, bookended by How I Met Your Fucking Mother of all things. The romantic gestures that used to make me feel alive had turned into something that almost killed me. “Losing A Whole Year” of TV on the couch with Codename: Winterwood turned into “Losing Three Years” of a home and a life. I used to do Connor’s homework so he would drive me over to her place after school, just to watch TV. Now I understand the song, because TV became a deadly routine disguised as a last vestige of love. How time changes things. I don’t even feel like the same guy.

The idea of finding someone I would ever be compelled to do something huge for, ever again, seems ludicrous. Even sadder, it just seems exhausting. Why do any of it, if it’s going to end anyways? If even TED MOSBY gets an ending so bad that it ruins the legacy of one of the most popular shows ever made, what hope do I have? I don’t think I have another blue French horn in me. Hell, I won’t even go past Mid City to grab a drink these days. And the funny part is, the horrifically awful unbelievably tragic part is, the less I care, the more dates I go on. What lesson do I glean from this? I used to scrape and claw. I would find someone who lit me on fire and I would do anything for them. I would walk to the ends of the Earth. I thought I could move mountains for her. I thought I could yell at the sky and make it rain. Now I set a $40 limit for a first date and I have to start a Google Calendar. It’s all very sad. To have success in dating is to feel unfulfilled in love. Okay, I can accept that if I have to. I feel physically incapable of putting romance above my career, of putting someone else’s needs above my own. My body rejects it. It’s self preservation? What have I ever gotten from it? What did Ted ever get from it?

***But then I saw the ending***
And I liked it.

I know, I know, people were mad about Ted backsliding to Robin. BUT IT’S THERE FROM THE FIRST EPISODE. It’s so obviously the throughline for the show, especially on a fast binge. But maybe people were too preoccupied with the titular Mother. And I also know that people hated how little time was spent with the Mother post-titular Meeting. But… did they miss the titular Title? It’s about how Ted met her, not about what happened after. I know people think they know what they want, but it would have just turned into a generic sitcom happy ending. That’s not reality, and the show was (at least early on) supposed to be a more “realistic” take on a sitcom, of the winding messy roads we take, on the unknowable designs of fate and coincidence, the choices and consequences that add up in tiny ways and shape our destiny. It’s who we are becoming that matters, not who we become. It was never a show about Ted’s life with the Mother – he’s telling his kids this, they obviously already know that part. He’s telling his kids about his life that led him to their Mother – and that life revolved around Robin. Of course they were going to end up together. Or, at least, “end up” together in the sense that the show ends there. We’re left to assume that, in the language of storytelling, they live happily ever after forever and ever. Preserved in happiness for all eternity, because that’s where the story ends. Perhaps that’s why people don’t like the ending. They actually just didn’t want it to end at all. Because the show trained them to appreciate the journey. That’s the truth of the human experience, I think, or at least the glimpse of it that the show meant to reveal to us. In reality, there is no ending… there’s just things happening. I could never have the storybook small town ending with Codename: Winterwood because fundamentally, the “end” doesn’t exist. The only ending is when we die and the public opinion on death is even worse than the HIMYM ending. No, our romance ended where it needed to. So did every romance in my life. And rather than live believing I’m playing out some epilogue where the end of my last relationship was actually the end of the journey, I need to revert to my Tedness and get back out there and believe that I’m actually looking for The One again. Maybe it’s an illusion. Maybe it’s dramaturgy. But what’s the point of doing any of this if you don’t believe that? Why go on a date hoping to get swept off my feet if I don’t even believe that type of thing is possible anymore? I set myself up for disappointment by numbing myself against possibility. I don’t know. I don’t have the answers. I don’t know how to fix it. Maybe it just takes time. Maybe I’ll just wake up one day and remember how to do it. Maybe I’ll meet someone at a train stop and I’ll realize all the yellow umbrellas I’ve been overlooking this whole time. What other choice do I have? Believe that all of this is meaningless chaos we find patterns in so our brains don’t explode from entropy? Or do I suck it up, dust off the dirt, put some frozen peas on my black eye and yell at the sky again? I want to make it rain again. I know I can. Fate works in mysterious ways, after all – imagine if I had watched the ending of HIMYM, back then, and hated it. I never would have rediscovered it later and it never would have given me the faintest glimmer of hope that romance still exists out there. So, for better or worse, I accept my Tedness. No use running away from it anymore. I keep on trying. That’s all I can do. I made it rain before. I can do it again.

***So there***
How’s that for a speech?