As a passionate and slightly-OCD kind of person, I do tend to be quite fickle. I spend most of my life obsessing over all kinds of things - songs, colours, types of food, films, and even people - only to wake up one morning with the very real realisation that their novelty has suddenly worn off (people included - terrible, I know). I spent my childhood being fickle about friendships, and my adolescence being fickle about boys - not that you can blame me; spotty teenage boys aren't exactly worth a lifetime-commitment.
According to my mother, then, "fickle" is my middle name. And she should know - she named me. So how can somebody so easily-excitable and, at the same time, so easily-bored settle down and get married? Good question.
I think it boils down to the difference between being in love and love itself. The character Dr. Iannis (played by John Hurt) in the movie "Captain Corelli's Mandolin" summed it up perfectly:
When you fall in love, it is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake, and then it subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the desire to mate every second of the day. It is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body. No... don't blush. I am telling you some truths. For that is just being in love; which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over, when being in love has burned away. Doesn't sound very exciting, does it? But it is!
The madness of the earthquake has not yet subsided. The thrill of being in love is stronger than ever. But I know - in my heart - that as we get old and the sparks start to diminish, our love will not falter. I will love my Groom-to-be until the very end... when we get old, and being middle-aged starts to steal the hair from his head - I will still love him. When conversation runs dry and the television becomes our number one companion - I will still love him. And when we are wrinkled, toothless and senile - I will still love him.
Unless by then I have alzheimer's. In which case, being fickle will be the least of our problems.