I hate Valentine’s Day. I’ve always hated Valentine’s Day. I don’t consider myself to be a cynic but the whole commercialised idea of love being glorified on one day of the year doesn’t appeal to me. Plus I have residual issues stemming from being the only girl in school who never got to gloat at the thrill of having to carry around a stuffed animal and/or obligatory red rose. I missed that whole fiasco.
The month of February seems to have become synonymous with love and romance that is grandiose. It gives hope to the broken and life to the otherwise forgotten. I’ve found though that desperate love is always the toughest way to do it and the pressure to find Mr Right can become all consuming and depressing.
Love is a disease in and of itself. Fortunately, I’ve long since parted ways with the girl I used to be – the days where I’d walk around with a high fever in my face, the poster child for a montage of every Adele song ever written. I’ve exhausted myself with the collective consequences of a lifetime of choices made out of chaotic passions, always the victim of my own optimism.
But, I’m not brooding. This isn’t a brooding essay. I have reached a level of contentment that comes with age and life experience. I’ve learnt that to love is to recognise yourself in another. Few of us can even comprehend the enormity of that. The longing to be recognised not on the level of form, but on the level of being. To become unstitched from below the surface, with a refusal to indulge in anything that’s less than passionate. I want to experience and hold on to the moments that remind me of me.
What’s wonderful about getting older is that love takes on a new meaning. It’s untainted by a physicality that’s superficial. It’s enmeshed in purity. It’s the inclusiveness of being joined with someone and becoming more than you would have been alone. A love that has no opposite.
But before that level of appreciation is had and as clichéd as this sounds, I’ve learnt that I need to Be the embodiment of love, to myself and others, in order to receive it in the way I want. It’s a consecration of sorts to the essence of who I am. This arising awareness makes me feel love that is True and Pure. A Divine dispensation if you will. And while romance is definitely a beautiful thing, true, authentic Love should be a celebration every day.
I’ll be buying myself a bunch of red roses tomorrow ?