Photo courtesy of Google Images
By Carrie Pinkard
The last time I had a date for Valentine’s Day he showed up at my house with a half-eaten bag of Hershey’s kisses.
“I went to lunch with my grandma, and she didn’t want the rest of these,” he said, plopping them in my hand. He then told me he forgot to make a reservation for dinner.
We ended up at Chili’s, the second least romantic restaurant after a Wawa gas station. I ordered a margarita in an attempt to save the night and still have fun. When I went to order a second one he said, “Do you really need that?”
And those words made me realize that I didn’t “need” any of this.
I didn’t need to mask my discomfort with a sweet-yet-salty pink drink. I didn’t need a date on Valentine’s Day with a guy who merely tolerated me. I didn’t need a romantic partner in my life at all.
That night, my thighs sticking to a Chili’s booth, I felt lonelier sitting across from another person than I ever did being by myself.
Years later, I realize how complete I am without another person. I realize how amazing it is to come home after a long day and sit in my studio apartment alone. I realize the thrill of listening to terrible music at whatever volume I like and having full control of the TV remote.
Sometimes, Valentine’s Day will approach, and I will wonder if Cupid got lost in IKEA on his way to find me. I wonder if I don’t put myself “out there” enough. I wonder if I put up too many emotional barriers to ever let someone get to know me.
But then I think about what I do have. I have so much love in my life without romance.
Some of the best Valentine’s Days I’ve ever had were spent with my friends. One year we filled balloons up with paint and threw darts at them a la Mia Thermopolis. Another time, we threw a girls-only party and read what we loved about each other out of a “snap cup.”
I don’t know when (or if) romantic love will stumble into my life again.
I am certain, however, that alone is a thousand times better than unappreciated.
