“If You Have No Intention of Loving or Being Loved, Then the Whole Journey is Pointless”
How ‘The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane’ Exposes the Modern Love Crisis
By Stella Speridon-Violet
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One practice I’ve been doing lately is making sure I’m listening to my inner child. So, when I opened TikTok last week I wasn’t expecting to see a childhood book I used to love being used in a sad quotes video.
So, I found the book online and started reading until I finished and realized it was something that still resonated with me as a 21-year-old adult.
Today, I’m going to take you on a journey, a miraculous one, of the one and only, Edward Tulane.
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There’s a moment in The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane when the once-pristine, self-absorbed porcelain rabbit is told, plain and simple:
“If you have no intention of loving or being loved, then the whole journey is pointless.”
It’s a gut punch of a line, the kind that lingers long after you close the book. And if you sit with it for a second, you realize it isn’t just about a toy rabbit lost at sea—it’s about us.
It’s about the way we swipe, ghost, and keep each other at arm’s length. It’s about the fear of being seen, the walls we build, and the quiet ache of wondering why love feels so impossible in a world that claims to have it all figured out.
Kate DiCamillo’s 2006 novel, meant for children but devastatingly real for adults, follows Edward Tulane as he’s passed from owner to owner, from ocean floors to garbage heaps, forced to confront what it means to love.
And, more painfully, what it means to lose. His journey isn’t just a story—it’s a lesson. One we, in the age of disposable connections, desperately need to hear.
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Edward starts his story in a kind of emotional stasis. He belongs to a girl named Abilene, who adores him, but he doesn’t care.
Love is something he receives, not something he gives. He is, in every way, the perfect metaphor for the modern dating landscape: unwilling to be vulnerable, convinced he is owed devotion, and indifferent to the hearts that beat for him.
And then, as all great stories go, everything falls apart.
Edward is thrown overboard, lost, abandoned, passed from hand to hand—each new owner offering love in a way that forces him to confront his own emptiness. A fisherman’s wife cradles him like a child. A hobo names him “Malone” and teaches him how to listen. A sick little girl loves him as fiercely as if he were real. And with each heartbreak, Edward’s edges soften.
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By the time he reaches the doll shop at the end of his journey, he has been broken, repaired, and broken again. And yet, in the stillness of that shop, he hears the voice of the old doll beside him:
“You must be filled with expectancy. You must be awash in hope. You must wonder who will love you, whom you will love next.”
This is the part where he (and we) realize: Love isn’t about being worthy. It isn’t about earning it or proving you deserve it. It’s about being willing to give it, even after it’s been taken from you. Even after it’s shattered you.
In the age of hyper-curated dating profiles and emotionally unavailable situationships, love is often treated like a transaction.
We measure affection in texts sent and effort given. We mistake detachment for power. We fear wanting too much, caring too deeply, or—God forbid—actually needing someone.
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Edward Tulane, in all his heartbreak and porcelain fragility, stands in direct opposition to this.
His story reminds us that love is not something to be controlled. It is something to be surrendered to. And in a world where it’s easier than ever to protect ourselves from the sting of rejection, maybe what we need most is the reminder that love is supposed to hurt sometimes.
It’s supposed to leave a mark.
Because the alternative?
A life untouched, unchanged, and unloved. A journey without purpose.
And as Edward himself learns, that’s no journey at all.
