Perhaps it’s because I have a Valentine that I feel this way. In fact, I’ve had a Valentine since I was sixteen years old. Even though I have a special someone, doesn’t mean THE actual day is all it’s cracked up to be. In fact, a lot of life is like that.
Birthdays, prom, first love, wedding, babies… you visualize these things in your head and they are perfectly dreamy… sunshine and kisses, fluid dances and wishes.
I would argue that the anticipation is always better than the event. It’s the planning period where possibilities are endless, the place where imagination and dreams collide. Valentine’s day is one such event. After almost twenty-five years of marriage, I’m still looking to be romanced, hoping to re-kindle the magic, imagining being swept off my feet. When the reality is that it’s just another day.
There is a quote in the novel The Hours, by Michael Cunningham, in which the main character Clarissa states, “There is still that singular perfection, and it’s perfect in part because it seemed, at the time, so clearly to promise more.”
Isn’t Valentine’s Day just another day that we seek for the “more.” And for those who don’t have Valentines, the absence of the possibility of “more” can seem even more daunting than the inability to realize “more” when the potential is there. Yet, we move forward, those with and without Valentines, never losing hope for the promise of possibility in the future.
Oftentimes, in these periodic moments, the more doesn’t exist simply because we’re looking for it and it doesn’t ever quite live up to the potential, the ideal.
But in the other quiet, unsuspecting moments is where our more really lives. The moments when something unexpected happens to make our hearts swell and truly appreciate where love resides.