As grocery stores began to over-stock their flower sections and add a touch-too-much pink to their usually dull decor, the unruly dread of being alone on yet another Valentine’s Day began to haunt me.
For three years and running, I have spent Feb. 14 by myself.
The first year, my not-so-long-distance boyfriend could not make the trip on a Thursday. Something about an exam the next day. The second year, I spent the day with a bottle of wine in one hand and an old love letter in the other. Something like a breakup weeks before. The third year, I planned a day with someone new, but he bailed at the last minute. Something about commitment issues.
Since I was 18-years-old, I have despised the “holiday.” Do couples really need a day to prove they love each other? For three years, I thought the concept was utterly and completely ridiculous.
This year, however, after talking to a friend, I decided to change my mind. This year, Valentine’s Day might just become my favorite holiday.
There is no sense in hiding away anymore. Scared someone, anyone might find out that I am, in fact, alone. Feeling ashamed that I am single like it is a secret I am desperately trying to conceal. Because, in truth, over the last couple of months, I have realized I actually really like being single.
I like taking care of myself. Relying on myself. Being in control of my own happiness.
I like how much time being single has given me. Time creating. Time dancing. Time growing.
I like how I have learned to look for love in other places. In my friends and family and strangers. In hidden corners and fleeing smiles. In myself.
This year, I plan to let my secret out. I plan to march into the grocery store and gush at the silly decorations. I plan to smile to myself as I buy a dozen red roses.
This year, I will be spending Valentine’s Day alone.
And if you are spending this holiday alone too, buy your own g*odd*mn flowers. I will be, and I would not want it any other way.