This past week, I read Pride & Prejudice for one of my courses. While most of my classmates – at least the female ones – had first read the book somewhere around age twelve, this week was my first exposure to the novel.

Pride & Prejudice is a very good book with very good themes and makes for a very good discussion. It’s a book that follows who is who, who is getting married, who has prospects of getting married, who might begin a courtship, who is in love with whom and for what reasons, what social or financial credentials determine a couple’s likelihood of being together, whether or not those credentials are valid and much more. A big reason why the book is interesting is because of the ways it talks about love and explores marriage. They all do it in different ways, but the sisters, the parents, the friends, the aunts and the cousins all constantly speak of one main thing: romance.

For better or for worse, cultural views of marriage and romance have changed drastically since Pride & Prejudice’s era. One thing that hasn’t changed, however, is our general tendency to obsess over romance.

I’ve noticed this both inside and outside my friend circles ever since high school: Once someone goes on a date or announces a crush or gets asked out, it seems that everyone flocks to that person.

You’d recognize the reaction: “How did it go? What does he look like? Do you think he likes you? Is he a good guy? I’ll beat him up if he’s not. Do you think you’ll go on another date?” And so on. Judgments, approvals, disapprovals, jealousy and various other forms of drama swirl rapidly. The person having the romantic adventure becomes the center of attention… for at least a few moments.

Friendships can get based solely on a series of overly-repeated stories of the latest boy issues. Whispering abounds. Meetings are formed to talk about one another's romantic affairs – sometimes between two people who would never talk to each other otherwise. People tend to dig for info on a person’s love life before they ask about a person's day, job, relationship with family or state of soul.

When I go home for breaks, everyone inevitably asks me if I have a boyfriend yet – partially because they care about any big developments in my life, and partially, I think, because it would feel interesting and juicy. It would add a seemingly more valuable layer to my life that hasn't existed yet.

Several times I’ve been identified as a unique friend simply because I "don’t talk about boys." I don’t pry into my friends’ love lives. I don’t have any romantic escapades myself. And if I did, I probably wouldn’t care to talk about them always.

Maybe I value beauty and love outside of eros; maybe I see true romantic love as a rare and sacred thing; maybe I think a person is far, far more than their love life. Or maybe I’m just slowly becoming a bitter old hag – that’s fairly likely, too.

I don't not care about my friends' relationships. Their romantic involvement becomes an important part of their life, and because I love them, I have a right and a duty to provide support, assistance and encouragement (potentially discouragement) when it's asked for.

However, if you’ve noticed this phenomenon of obsession with others' loves – if you've ever gained attention and worth when you had a relationship, date or crush but friends became sparse and emotional meaning less valuable when you're desolately single – let me remind you: You aren’t interesting because you have a love life. You are interesting because you are a complex, independent human with strengths, feelings and thoughts entirely unique to you.