In the past, I have written about the uselessness of Valentine's Day, it's an ineffective Hallmark-establishment of a holiday to make some extra bucks on behalf of chocolate, all the derivatives of the color red, flowers (roses, in particular), and the condom industry. I've boycotted and revolted by way of biting vocabulary, how much I can't stand to have a DAY that is dedicated to overhyping a sensation, an emotion, a sentiment, a state of sharing and being. L-O-V-E.
These letters are freestanding in physical form on the corner of forty or fifty-something streets and 6th avenue in New York, and then again somewhere in Philly. People use the word so deliberately and so unintentionally, that perhaps the degree to which one might understand the word love (and I know I'm guilty of it too) with less conviction, with less thought, with less meaning. or maybe not. But I'd like to believe that I'm one among many who have come to see how language and its usage have evolved, rapidly. To profess one's love for another, for anything, would have been a statement of great proportions back in the day. If I may recall the words of Jane Austen in Pride and Prejudice, the romance and relationship that unfolds between Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy is one that seems to remark how words are not to be taken lightly, and therefore, chosen with precision and care--AFTER he tells her, "...you have bewitched me body and soul..."
This morning, however, the thought did not occur to me that today also marked Valentine's Day. I dressed in mostly black, with the exception of my jeans, and then out of some remorse or feeling that I should try to be a little more acknowledging of this holiday, found a ring of my mom's and slipped it on. This was my vain attempt at being 'in the spirit'--the ring has rubies, a hint of reddish pink, which also happens to be my birthstone. So I'm not a grinch for Valentine's day. I swear, I wasn't deliberately veto-ing the notion of a day filled with giggles and exasperated, overdramatized sighs, with tears even, or just the most unimaginable, pangs of glee that skip around in one's stomach. What's the phrase--'warm-fuzzy feeling'? Tingles that seem to spread throughout your fingertips?
I confessed to a friend yesterday that I'm not sure I've ever really fallen in love. I think I've fallen in love with the idea of something, but perhaps love, in some sense, is truly inconceivable to me. My seniors recently staggered through Paradise Lost--we didn't finish it, but I realize now that the frustration people have with God, is exactly that. We can never conceptualize, or comprehend, even in the minutest of ways, how God loves. It almost becomes illogical. There's a huge amount of faith that we must lean on, that we must risk and demand in order to maybe even catch a glimpse. But in any case, I think in some ways, I have also come to think that maybe the kind of love I wish to experience from God, is also the kind of love that I hope to get from someone else. Impossible, you say. And I think you're right. This is not to say that I give up on the idea. I am a romantic, truly. And I am an idealist. I'm not without the understanding that there is much pain and suffering that takes place in order for all this to be set in motion, but I will say that it requires patience.
Today, however, as I left my apartment for school, Spencer, the oldest of three boys (I would guess he's about 7?) was opening the door, when he heard me coming down the steps. He turned around, and as I said 'hi' to him, Spencer, looked at me, and wished me a "Happy Valentine's Day". My response was a reflex: "Happy Valentine's Day to you, too, Spencer!" But for a little boy to have shared such a greeting, I will admit that a smile curled onto my face.
We long to be loved. There's no shame in that. But if I remember the posts that I have written on past February 14th's (or days before and after), it might indicate loud and clear, how I fear that I will not be loved. In the same way that I skirt the idea of this being a cute, cuddly, feel good day, I secretly wish to be able to participate--so I think about my advisees, and how they would be my valentines, and how we might be able to celebrate L-O-V-E in a different form than the implied romantic kind.
I however, have been trying to gather some experience in the companionistic sense. So I went out to coffee this weekend. No big deal. Just coffee--but when I tried to joke with a friend, who called while he was right next to me, in a bookstore, I finally came to grips--it was a date. I laughed a loud, and then finally embraced the idea--it was a date...so obvious too, to the high school girl working the arts and crafts table at the toy store we visited, and the mother and two daughters who joined us at the table, speculating thoughtlessly about the prospect of a first date, as we created valentines for each other...
Anyway, I post this with roughly an hour and a half left in this day. I won't give up hope, but at least I can feel a little bit of good humor instead of bitterness that may have consumed me in earlier years. =) I suppose one has only the choice of laughing...if we take life too seriously, we miss out.
So while I speak nothing new, I only wish to extend the idea that no day need be designated to raise awareness of that one experience, sentiment, embodiment that everyone wants and deserves. I'm wondering how the blue, finger-painted, secret valentine card that my nephew was busy making yesterday for his momma worked out. I like the trend he's setting. Happy hearts, all.
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