Some holidays are more difficult for people to navigate than others. Valentine’s Day is a particularly polarizing event simply for its implications and social cues by which we all judge our current life.
When I was commuting to work by train, I would see men on Valentine’s Day boarding the car with balloons bouncing off each other and roses crinkling in their cellophane encasements. Some of the men carrying these tokens of affection seemed proud, while others appeared to be embarrassed. Still, some lucky person waiting at the end of the line would be receiving these gifts.
Some other items were easier to carry, such as a big box of confections, or would be more easily concealed, such as a piece of jewelry or a small box with what could be anything hidden inside, such as a little naughty negligee. Whatever the gift, it was going home to somebody to whom someone has bestowed their love.
The rest of us just carry on.
What is more heartbreaking than to be somebody with nobody who loves them? The kid in school your children collectively bully decorates a box with paper hearts and drawings, and on February 14 finds the box empty (or the altruistic child who was taught well by their parents submits a token entry). The teenager sits at home while others engage in boundary-testing behaviors with others their age. As for the adults–the once-married-now-divorced or those who shrugged off the burdens of useless relationships with abusers or those displaying other red flags–the best they can do is sigh with relief and look forward to a possible future and a second try at a relationship. The person who has never been loved is in a world of singular pain nobody else can fully understand.
The world outside the door of the unloved is like a graveyard populated by houses filled with people who tolerate your existence but don’t question why you live as you do. You barely see them all week. Your phone doesn’t ring. The only people knocking on your door are solicitors or religious pamphlet carriers. Retailers put on their politest face, and “That will be $25.98” may be the best thing they hear for days at a time.
Social media is salt in emotional wounds, as endless posts of “my new child/grandchild” or “our trip to this romantic getaway” remind them of what they will never experience. Nostalgic pages remind them of events they never went to: anybody’s wedding, prom, class trips.
They look in the mirror and see what nine months of construction in the womb provided, yet it seems to be insufficient for anybody else to acknowledge or appreciate. The days, months and years continue, and the spirit is stripped of any hope or encouragement. These are the people who die alone, surrounded by nobody. There is no obituary, because whatever they accomplished doesn’t matter to a soul.
And this is okay. It must be, because it happens daily. We feel we have the right to be silent in ignorance of what that can do to somebody. We never stop to think that the old man who may not smell pleasant may have sacrificed buying a bar of soap so their electricity would stay on in the winter, or the woman with a speech problem survived oral cancer and is happy to be able to talk at all. We judge and reject without care, when that is exactly what some human beings need: care. Sometimes just asking, “How are you” and “What do you need today” can be eye-opening.
But no, leave those people wondering why nobody loves them. That’s the humane thing to do, especially on Valentine’s Day. Silence in this case is not golden, but poison, and we decide to whom we give that poison through cancel culture and social rejection, which is probably the single worst thing that one can (or should) do. When the world needs love the most, don’t turn your back and say it’s somebody else’s problem, because in the end, we are all “somebody else.”
Survive Valentine’s Day, everybody.
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