I’ve always had mixed feelings about Valentine’s Day. I understand the "Hallmark-holiday" cynicism. The "I’m single and thanks for reminding me how loveless my life is" resentment. The "God please don’t let me fail the test of proving I love you because I bought you lousy carnations instead of roses" pressure.
And for me, there is added pressure. As a sex and relationships columnist, with all the sudden public and media appearances, it’s a bit like being Santa Claus at Christmas. Maybe I should set myself up in a mall somewhere with some cupid-type elves and invite people to sit on my lap and hand out advice.
Yes, I agree that it’s a bit of a goofy, made-up holiday to keep the consumer wheel turning. (I was in the Dollar Store yesterday and the red cinnamon hearts and tacky red lace greeting cards were already being pushed aside to make way for shamrocks and leprechauns!) But still, I can usually find it in my heart to drum up a little genuine enthusiasm for the day. Like at Christmas, I don’t let myself get caught up in the commercialism. Christmas, for me, is simply an opportunity to spend time with friends and loved ones – to eat, drink and be merry.
Similarly, Valentine’s Day is an opportunity to step off the merry-go-round, take a good look at my honey, preferably across a candlelit table adorned with some good food and a nice bottle of wine, and say, "Hey, you’re really special to me and I’m glad you’re in my life." Even when I’ve been single, I’ve made a point of taking the opportunity to get together with friends, preferably over a candlelit table adorned with some good food and a nice bottle of wine, to tell them, "Hey, you’re really special to me and I’m glad you’re in my life." No biggie.
Unfortunately, what started as – well, actually there’s a lot of dispute over how it started – but what has long been intended as a celebration of love and romance, has evolved into an annual venting of all that we loathe about love and romance – a sort of disenchantment clearinghouse. It’s somehow became cool to be cynical about Valentine’s Day. There are even books with titles like I Hate Valentine’s Day or The Anti-Valentines’ Day Guide cashing in (ironically) on VD cynicism. I remember Donna Lypchuk, the once-hip, snarky columnist for Toronto’s Eye magazine, suggesting we rename it "Co-Dependent Hell Day.
"The kind of love that is celebrated on Valentine's Day is conditional love — ‘I only love you as long as I can stick my penis in your vagina. That's the deal. In return, you get this box of chocolates and bouquet of roses.’ What the hell is that?"
Hey, I’m the first to admit that, as a society, we generally have fucked up, unrealistic expectations when it comes to love. I get the letters every week and yes, love is definitely blind a lot of the time. We project unrealistic expectations on our partner, fail to see them for who they really are and then become disillusioned and angry when they don’t live up to our projections. But cynicism is a cop out. Especially when it comes to love.
I’m not saying we have to fall for some idealized, unrealistic notion of love that can be neatly expressed once a year with flowers and lingerie (as Lypchuk also wrote: "who needs a negligee if you’re truly turned on"). But "gathering a large amount of sympathetic malcontents together and declare February 14 as a Day of Hate," as one Internet campaign called for, while funny, seems a little counterproductive.
So this year, instead of spending your energy resenting the unrealistic romantic ideals shoved down your throats by the greeting card and candy companies, ignore all that and use the day to examine what love really means to you. Maybe over a nice candlelit dinner.
QUICKIES
I wanna know what you come up with. Complete the following sentence: "Love is…"
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