(^ my current favourite love song. It’s lasted a few years now beside Frankie Valli, Leonard Cohen and Death Cab, so it’ll probably stay in the hall of fame. )
In spite of the year prior and my love for all things romantic and gluttonous, I find myself dreading February every year. In my head, February is January’s whiny little sister; a conceptually empty, barren tundra month wherein the only upcoming big holiday to look forward to is Easter— which is kind of a boring one to begin with. Though much more bearable on the coast, February is when you foolishly get your hopes up about spring being around the corner while knowing you’re setting up for immense disappointment. I always forget about Valentines day until the first of the month because in theory it feels like a breeding ground for cynicism. Every grocery store is hot pink and red; trying to tell you that roses are worth one hundred dollars when roses aren’t even a very pretty flower to begin with— and just after they were trying to sell you leftover mistletoe fantasies for such a low, low price.
These are all things I should hate. Really. I operate on the belief that if you want to have a good February, go in expecting the worst. Believe that the weather will be gross and that everyone will tell you romantic love is the most important of all the loves and that anything else is a wash—this will trick you into thinking that any little morsel of good fortune is actually sent from cupid himself. To my annual surprise, I normally end up finding myself very foolishly happy. I think it’s because somewhere without fail between the first and the fourteenth, I get reminded that all the celebrations of romance being pushed at you can be applied to everyone and everything. Plus, I really love cinnamon hearts.
To be completely honest, I like that the western world spends a month asking you to think about getting everyone you care about and have ever thought of kissing a little bit of chocolate. Though Valentines day isn’t really a spiritual holiday anymore, I am starting to believe that its situation in February makes the month the most fixated on hedonism. This isn’t always a bad thing. Valentine’s lesser importance over days like Christmas and New Years makes it feel a little lower stakes, and much higher in payoff as a result. People get restless after spending January starving themselves of earthly delights. We were all miserable, stuck inside trying to lose weight or be more productive; so they invented a day soon after where we could take all that pent up frustration and indulge in it all at once like a Hieronymus Bosch painting. I have a theory that they made Valentines day for this reason exactly: we would probably all go crazy and off ourselves in the drudgery of mid-winter cold and the remembrance of Christmas mirth if we didn’t have just a little friction to look forward to.
The candles, the romance, the sensuality. If you do Valentines day right, I think it could possibly be the least consumerist holiday out there. One of my friends told me once that the best lay you’ll ever have is with an environmental activist because they know one important philosophical truth- that sex is the only indulgence you can enjoy in this world without causing any harm to it. [Though I argue that sometimes sex can do a lot of harm to other people—which are an equally important part of the world— I appreciate the spirit of anarchy.] Having nice and meaningful sex is part of the shtick, but only if you want it to be. I make Valentines for people every once in a while because I am a sucker for any opportunity to write a letter. I have little rituals for the day like making chocolate strawberries and dancing alone to my favourite old love songs. I tend to do Valentines day festivities beforehand and then spend the day alone; a tradition I made for myself after a particularly awful breakup and an annual reminder that I will never choose to love someone in spite of myself again.
I think that sometimes when talking about tradition, we let our cynicisms get in the way and throw the baby out with the bath water. Bake a cake. Dance around the living room eating that cake. Go on a very nice walk in a neighbourhood with a lot of flowers. Make a plan with a friend you haven’t told you love in a very long time. Say you’re sorry to a few people if it makes you feel a sense of absolution. Do all of this with the sole intent to fill something up inside of yourself (I think this should be a larger function of love anyways). I don’t think that it is anti-intellectual to indulge in tradition, so long as you know why.
I wish I was one of those people who was wry and witty about Valentines day in the same way that I often wish I was wry and witty about romance, but I like it so much that the seemingly never ending sub-zero weather has become a long forgotten footnote in a month that otherwise makes me glow. I’d like to think that this suggests something about my relationship with Murphy’s Law. Life will happen actively against my will forever; and if I am to like something, chances are I will have to be critical of it first.
Here is a photo of the block print I used to make my Valentines this year. I hope you do something today that makes you and your loved ones warm.
with love and all my affection xoxo
Kenna