Two years ago, my boyfriend and I spent Valentine’s Day apart. Well, sort of. We had just started dating, but valentines day was a “red shift” for both of us: the 8-hour shift at the mall was so important no one was allowed to call it off. So we worked that Friday; I made drinks at Starbucks for an endless line of couples and middle school girls, and he parked cars outside our store because we worked at an upscale mall at which people wanted valet parking. I could wave to him through the window, and he came and gave me a kiss goodbye when he went home early. I couldn’t feel too mad at this arrangement; the mall caused us to meet in the first place a couple months beforehand, when he took the valet job.
During that shift, customers would sometimes ask me if I had any plans for the night. “Just staying here,” I would reply. Some felt bad for me, but honestly, I was having fun. I was working with two of my closest friends and favorite coworkers, and we joked around the entire time, even through the stress of the busy shift. I wouldn’t have our Valentine’s Day any other way. It said something about us: it said that we’re both fighters, who are willing to work less-than-ideal jobs in order to do what we really want. It said that we didn’t need the buzz of a big holiday to prove anything. In fact, we waited until Sunday to go out because we wanted to beat the crowds anyway.
Around this time of year, chances are you’ve seen tons of #relationshipgoals photos on Instagram, and maybe even some of your friends showing off some new engagement rings. Whether you’re rocking the single life, in a long distance relationship, or even happily seeing someone who lives in the same place that you do most of the time, Valentine’s Day can feel like a popularity contest of the worst kind: who got the biggest bear or the nicest chocolate or, even worst, the most expensive gift.
I think this “valentine anxiety” comes from a natural place. Everyone wants certainty. We want to quantify someone else’s feelings, as if we could tell exactly how much someone cares for us by the size of the gift they give. This performance-based certainty sometimes even keeps us from asking the hard questions, like “How serious are you about me?” or “Are we actually doing OK?” Sometimes, it can take a perfectly healthy relationship to an insecure place. Sometimes, it can put a bandage over a wound that should be checked.
But Valentine’s Day doesn’t have to be lonely and insecure. I actually love Valentine’s Day, because I think love is a messy, amazing miracle. Valentine’s Day can become a time to appreciate someone, whether it’s your friends or mentors or your significant other. This appreciation doesn’t have to manifest in a teddy bear, either. It can just be some good, old-fashioned encouragement.
This year, don’t let someone else’s Valentine’s Day intimidate yours. Wherever you are right now is where you’re supposed to be, and no one on this earth is unloved. Some of us may not get teddy bears and chocolate. Some of us may have to work on Valentine’s Day, or spend a quiet night alone. This year, I’ll be spending the day 700 miles away from my boyfriend. I’m OK with that, because I know that we’re in a good place and don’t need a holiday to prove it. So yes, my Valentine’s Day, and relationship, will probably never be the Instagram filtered, stuff-driven, perfectly-contoured “relationship goals.” And I’m happy about that, because I’ve found something better.
Image Credit: Jacob Cobb, Brittany Rand, Zack Zinck