Holidays, both big and small, have a tendency to become this “incredible hulk” the sooner they approach. Much like Christmas, the build up to a single day is almost hilarious. There are hours worth of work and millions of dollars spent in advertising, for what? The next thing you know, you are standing in line at the mall trying to exchange a sweater that fits like a couch cover and you still have glitter in your hair from the “festive” wrapping paper.
This week, I have heard nothing but people’s “plans.” Romantic carriage rides through parks, 8 course dinners at “Le Something French” and the plethora of other predictable Valentine’s Day ideas. I saw a man buying a teddy bear tied to a bunch of balloons by its neck. I saw a woman holding two cards in Target debating between them as though she were Sophie, and this was obviously her choice. No part of me felt left out; no part of me felt jealous. I see people with a good looking sandwich? Jealous. I see someone with a dozen overpriced roses and a box of those “crumbles like crack rocks” heart shaped candy? Run.
It’s not to say I’ve developed a “lactose intolerant” reaction to this type of affection, but I come from the school of thought as follows: travel the road less followed, and make sure to do it in sensible shoes. Love, or emotions like it, should never be forced. It’s not something you impulse by up at the register at CVS. It’s not US Weekly or gum. Much like Christmas, it’s really not about what is inside the box. So go forth with your Chinese take-out and your Burritos. Have tacky margaritas in obnoxious glasses and maybe get up and sing Karaoke. Love isn’t about putting on a tie or Spanx and sitting through a meal. Love is sharing a day like any other with the person you feel most at home with. And if you find that person, then that is a holiday worth celebrating every day you can.
So I look forward to February 15th. It’s just another day, just like the day before it.