On this last day of Valentine’s month, I have something to tell you. To be honest, it’s not something I want to tell you. It’s not something I need to tell you. But in the past week, I’ve come to the conclusion that it is something you might like to know.
This February, magic, magic magic. Yes. So true. But I must unhappily reveal that for every bit of grace, there was also a profusion of sadness. For all the love letters I sent, I also spoke words in anger. I cried as much as I laughed. I despised as much as I loved. And despite the many, many smiles, so happily snuggled into my face, on occasion, I couldn’t keep said face from contorting into these expressions:
Perhaps this doesn’t affect or surprise you. You may shrug your shoulders unsympathetically, tell me this is being human, this is life, that you’ve read this already, seen it in thousands of movies, that Fantine had it so obviously worse. But the success of Valentine’s month has never rested on being inherently human. No. Upon reflection, I think the true nature of February has always been a challenge to me, to be better than myself. It was based on a strong conviction that, regardless of how I felt, in pursuing love, in being irrationally loving, I would always watch love win. Despite myself.
And win it did. For the last seven years, February has been the catalyst of many revived friendships, of substantial growth, profound beauty, of love, of love, of love, and more love. Perhaps the weakness was that I started to feel a security in the month itself, as if the month would act on its own accord and bless me with its heart shaped lips. Of course, we can all see the fallacy in that. To my great dismay, when this month revealed a warehouse of trouble and hurt, I was grossly unprepared to handle it. I descended into darkness. And, because of the inconsistency with the light so characteristic to this month, I felt like an enormous hypocrite, which made everything worse. Worse was that love was still there, worse was that it coexisted equally with the meanness festering inside of me. How could this be? I wondered and wondered.
And then it came to me. The obvious fact that all of you probably see but me. This coexistence is always here, in all 365 days of the year. Some experience supreme joy, while others suffer unfathomable pain, all while the sun turns indifferently on its axis. How full the glass is sometimes depends on where you were circumstantially born on this earth. And, while I’ve never felt particularly entitled to anything I have, I must say that I should be more regularly astonished at what I do possess.
Love wins where it is found, where it is sown, where it grows. And it is imperative to recognize that love that has been lavished on me, all my life, by friends, family, and even bratty Gigi.
This is probably the best way to live, knowing this. Love must win. Love must conquer all. Because what else is there to live for but Love?
Happy Valentine’s Month. You are loved, my friend. Here’s to 365 days of effort, to make every day as Valentine as we can. I can’t wait to celebrate this endeavor with you all over again next year.