When Love Is Not in the Air

On your commute, a wall of bitter wind crushes your joy, biting and unforgiving. Winter is here for another six weeks, at least, and you’re single, again, not just for this season, but for another whole year. 

You’re encouraged to shack up reading subway ads purporting how paying for dating apps will surely lead to love. Scrolling, your socials sell you a different lifestyle and a whole new worldview, cutesy gifts you might buy your boo, if only you had one. Because your finger trips and you accidentally click an ad, for days you—a single person—will be aggressively marketed a 6.5-quart French oven in the color sea salt.

Valentine’s Day is a stupid day for amateurs, you harrumph. Even if you were “in love” you would be far above leaning into some forced, late-stage capitalist holiday. Yet, you recall those whimsical prefab cartoon cards you signed and passed out in second grade, back when you used to buy in, those recipients you strategically selected. Certain candied hearts with scandalous love messages went to out your curated crushes, back when you took the risk of confessing your truth. What a lover you were! What courage!

Believe you are enough, now, worth loving and taking a calculated risk of dating yourself and seeking out what fills you authentically. Risk being seen alone. Fake it till you make it, if you have to, and say you love yourself until you really mean it. Embrace your quirky parts, even the kooky ones, that make up your unique whole. No one is normal, and self-love can never be sourced from the outside. 

Be weird. Keep the candy. Eat your heart out. Believe you can change your beliefs.