Ah, Valentine’s Day…the one day a year when you get to enjoy watching hoards of hopeless men scouring the picked-over aisles of CVS for the perfect way to say “I love you…and I probably don’t say that enough, in fact, I can’t remember the last time I did -oh, God, PLEASE DON’T DUMP ME, OH PLEASE WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T LEAVE ME FOR THAT YOUNGER AND LESS BALDING MAN IN YOUR YOGA CLASS.”
I really relish in this day. And sure, maybe it’s a little selfish, but I can’t help but savor watching grown men lug life-size teddy bears and cartoonish bouquets into the subway.
Pictured: A poor schmuck on Valentine’s Day in his natural habitat, frantically signing a Hallmark card using a pen from the register.
I used to be jealous of stuff like that. How dare I not have a Valentine on this completely ridiculous made-up day of consumerist love!
It took me a long time to really understand the root of that Valentine’s Day-fueled rage. Did I want a man to shower me in cheesy gifts that he just had to punch a guy over at the grocery store…I mean I guess so???
We’re so vain, we probably think this blog is about us.
In truth, I wasn’t upset that I was single on February 14th each year. I was upset that I didn’t have love in my life. And as far as I was concerned, the only way for that to happen was for another party to be involved.
Boyfriend. Boo-Thing. Babe. Bae. Sugar, do, do, do, do, do, do, ah, Honey, Honey…
The concept that love is for “couples only” is only slightly more ridiculous than, oh, I don’t know, a gigantic teddy bear holding a box of chocolate tap dancing at your doorstep.
Not only is this idea outdated, but it’s also just not true.
I’m not a scientist or anything, but I’ve spent the better part of the last five years studying myself. The thoughts I have, my little weird habits, all the tiny ways that make me, me. I guess this kind of makes me sound like a sociopath, but you get the idea.
And yes, I’ve done this all alone.
Now when I say “alone” I need you to step off and I mean that in the nicest way.
Because for some reason whenever I say I am “alone” some voice from the crowd (actually many) jump out and scream, “DON’T WORRY YOU HAVE PLENTY OF TIME TO FIND A MAN.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Being alone is not a bad thing. It is not a death sentence. I actually like it. And I don’t need you to attach my worth as a human to whether or not somebody else decides they want to be in a relationship with me, OKAY.
I’ll get off my soapbox now, but before we move forward in this blog I need you all to reassess the ways in which society tries to trick us into thinking we are worthless if we are alone. Dove commercials and Hershey’s chocolates would have you believe that you need someone else (a.k.a. not you) to show you how much you are worth and did we mention that M&Ms are half price today if you also buy this piñata shaped like two puppies kissing each other?!?!!
It’s rubbish and honestly have you ever even Googled “history of Valentine’s Day?”
Lol wait are you breaking up with me with a Valentine’s Day card???
According to history.com where I’ve spent the past hour of my life, there are a lot of wacky theories out there as to why V-Day started in the first place.
Some think it started as a celebration of the death of St. Valentine, an equally mysterious fella who might have gotten himself murdered for smuggling Christians out of Roman prisons. Others think he was marrying young lovers in secret after Emperor Claudius II outlawed marriage in an attempt to make better (and less distracted) soldiers.
And others site the day as having originated from a Roman festival where priests went around town in the middle of February, sacrificed some goats and dogs (for SHAME), dipped the hide in blood, then walked around the neighborhood slapping women and crops with the bloody hide because obviously this is the best-known method to bring fertility to all the land.
I know you didn’t ask for that history lesson, but at least now you can shame your significant other for giving you chocolate when they should have clearly slapped you with a bloody piece of goat hide. DO YOU EVEN LOVE ME, STEVEN.
OK, OK, enough is enough. You get the point. Don’t hate on Valentine’s Day just because you’re single and society told you to. Just love you! Here are 101 reasons why I love myself without the help of anybody else or an aisle of discounted chocolates. Enjoy!
How precious am I???
1. I ate an entire package of Proscuitto while writing this blog post.
2. I really love history even though I can’t remember where I put my laundry card.
3. One time I went to Scotland in a giant brain costume and performed a one-woman show in a warehouse to like 2 people.
4. I have really cute tiny feet that sometimes get stuck places cuz they are so smol.
5. I absolutely lose my shit at every single dog I see, make eye contact, greet them, and try to convince them to leave their owner so we can run away together to the South of France.
Potential Male Suitor: Wanna go out?
Me: Sorry, I’m busy…
6. I’m so funny.
7. I relearned how to walk, see, and do 3rd-grade math problems in two weeks.
8. I am a really good teacher even though I sometimes/always bump into desks and rip my pants wide open.
9. I talk in my sleep, sometimes having full conversations with people who may or may not be in the room.
10. When I become friends with someone, I love the shit out of them.
11. I am known to make sound effects when doing just about everything.
12. I will try to sell you a Passion Planner.
13. Sometimes I dance when nobody is looking but also when everyone is.
14. I wrote a book and it’s really fucking good.
15. I am a fantastic listener.
16. I have cool tattoos (and some silly ones).
17. I cry whenever I need to and usually in public places.
18. I am an absolute monster when I am hungry and/or tired.
19. I don’t really have much of a filter anymore so sometimes I just say whatever the fuck comes out of my mouth. Like this BLOOP BING BONG ZOOPDY DOOO!
20. I’m a hat person.
21. I look cute with short and long hair.
22. I have a dimple the size of Kentucky on the right side of my face.
23. My parents are amazing role models and taught me the importance of hard work, kindness, and being authentic.
24. I don’t tan and that’s fine.
25. I have freckles on my shoulders and arms.
26. My favorite food is mac and cheese because I am actually four years old.
27. I used to play ice hockey and I was really good at it but only managed to play 20 whole minutes during my college season.
28. My hair has it’s own zip code.
29. I have the mind of a squirrel.
30. Because I almost died, I have a much deeper appreciation for life having been given a second chance.
31. I’m a shit liar.
32. I don’t have to wear a lot of makeup to look pretty but when I put on red lipstick WOO-DOGGY!
33. I love old black and white films.
34. I find shit off the street, like rusty cabinets and record players, and make them into furniture.
35. Speaking of furniture. I BUILT AN IKEA BED OUT OF KITCHEN CABINETS WITH MY BARE HANDS.
36. Sometimes I just walk around craft stores for fun.
37. I have a sweet, sweet podcasting voice.
38. I am always down to try new things.
39. I am constantly reading 12 books at one time and never finishing any of them.
40. I acknowledge that 101 things is kind of a lot but I will for sure finish this list.
41. I know the difference between “you’re” and “your.”
42. If you share a bathroom with me I’ll clean my hair out of the drain 97% of the time.
43. I go nuts for office supplies. Especially binder clips.
44. I am a natural storyteller and can captivate any audience.
45. When I was in 2nd grade I mailed a letter to Rosa Parks.
46. I run into my doorframe every single morning.
47. I have literally the best friends in the whole world.
48. I never throw away cards that people send me.
49. I’ve never been addicted to drugs unless you count coffee.
50. I like to draw cute little cartoon versions of myself and leave them around any surface I can find for my friends and coworkers.
51. I’ve been rejected for a TED Talk three times but I keep trying.
52. I cuddle up with my mom and binge serial killer documentaries and also Outlander.
53. My legs are athletic despite losing a shit-ton of muscle mass and having to gain it all back.
54. I have a quirky sense of style and my favorite outfits are mostly from thrift stores.
55. It takes a lot to really piss me off or make me yell.
56. I hide things from myself which is honestly kind of annoying but also like a miniature scavenger hunt.
57. I have great taste in music.
58. I am slowly but surely having a better taste in men.
59. I’d rather stay in than go to the club.
60. I’m actually a really great singer.
61. I’m extremely functional considering my clinical depression, anxiety, and mild medically-triggered PTSD.
62. I can find laughter in truly unfunny situations.
63. When I was a kid I used to change outfits like 30 times a day.
64. I fucking love Free Willy.
65. Even though I have a potty mouth I never curse around little kids.
66. I own a typewriter that I bought on Craigslist from a woman named Marge.
67. I’m not that great at guitar but that doesn’t stop me from playing.
68. I have the craziest stories and they are all true!
69. I inspire people around me to be more creative and authentic.
70. I’m not afraid to travel by myself.
71. I actually don’t age. Seriously. I’m 97 years old.
72. I’m pretty, but like in a 1942-keep-my-crumpled-photo-in-your-helmet-while-you-fight-Nazis sort of way.
73. I take unusual pride in having had access to opioids post-brain surgery and somehow managing to not get addicted to them.
74. I have actually said, “Hi! Would you like a sticker with a picture of my face on it?” to multiple strangers.
75. I’m great with kids, teens, babies, teens who act like babies, and pre-pubescent 14-year-old boys who want to start improv clubs after school.
76. I’m outrageously bad at accents.
77. If I go on more than like three dates with you I’ll probably bake you banana bread.
78. I turn into a sack of goo when people play with my hair.
79. I’m an annoyingly hard worker.
80. Exhibit A: I probably won’t go to bed until I finish this list because I’m just that fucking stubborn.
81. I give high-fives, hugs, and back rubs.
82. I’ve been known to have rap battles in clubs when I’m really drunk.
83. I’m not flexible. Like at all.
84. My eyes are purdy.
85. I like taking long walks.
86. Every Saturday I run 3.4 miles to the dog park and sit and watch the dogs while eating an almond croissant and drinking a matcha latte. I don’t even have a dog.
87. I’m from Colorado, the coolest state ever!
88. I sleep curled up in a tiny ball.
89. I had the cutest classroom as a teacher (until my students ripped all my shit off the walls).
90. I am getting so excited to be getting to the end of this list! I LOVE MAKING LISTS.
91. I’m more sentimental than people realize.
92. I’m not kidding I really want to be a carpenter when I’m like 60.
93. Sometimes I buy myself pretty flowers just because.
94. When I get home from work I immediately get into my comfy jams.
95. The scar on the back of my neck is cute AF.
96. I will always text you back unless I write the response in my head instead of out loud.
97. I know how to change a tire.
98. I packed two suitcases and a manuscript and moved to New York City by myself and I have yet to be hit by a taxi, declare bankruptcy, or stabbed (did get punched though!) on the subway.
99. I GET SO EXCITED BY MAGIC TRICKS.
100. I’m not a morning person but you’ll have a good time watching me try to maintain consciousness by whatever means necessary.
101. I am truly, unconditionally in LOVE with everything that is me and I could not be more excited to show myself all the love and kindness (and OK FINE, chocolate) that I truly deserve, not just today, but every single day for the rest of my life.
I could keep going. Truly, I could. There are so many hidden things I love about being me, myself, and I that it could probably fill twelve more books (who smells a new memoir idea!!!)
I won’t kid you. This is not easy work.
The things I’ve hated about myself have filled an even stronger hold of my psyche for my entire life and I’d be lying if I said they would all just go away with a single (but very good) blog post.
That’s not how this works. Rome wasn’t built in a day, you guys.
Self-love, the real, holy-shit-I-can’t-believe-I-get-to-wake-up-every-day-and-be-ME kind of self-love is fucking hard. For some people, this behavior has never been modeled for us in the first place, or worse, it’s ridiculed or mocked.
Self-love is not selfish. It is imperative, essential, and a fucking requirement if you intend on loving others.
It takes looking in the mirror every day, every hour, every minute, and choosing mercy. Choosing loving words instead of criticism, kindness instead of cruelty, and trust instead of fear.
Hey, you. Yes, you in that reflection over there. I love you.
