Valentine Schmalentine. Raise your hand if starting January 14th you realized it was only one month away from Valentine’s Day and immediately went into a fit of crying panic.
That’s what I thought.
You can roll your eyes all you want and scoff and boast that you don’t care about “Singles Awareness Day”, but if you are indeed single, I would wager a bet that you’ve gone into a store where they sell giant stuffed bears holding giant stuffed hearts and willed them to burst into flames.
I truthfully hate chocolate for the most part and the only roses I want are ones that are being permanantely inked on parts of my body. But it doesn’t mean I’m heartless. I, too, have looked upon the arrival of the dreaded V-Day with anxiety and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’m changing that this year. Let’s look at a few fun facts first before we discuss anything further.
The average American spends $200.00 on this day. Over 50 million roses are given out. Approximately 1 BILLION cards are handed out and my favorite, 15% of us gals send ourselves flowers on this day.
53% of women say they would dump their significant other if they neglected to buy them a present. Men spend way more money than women on this day, jewelry purchases go through the roof and thousands of people join dating sites for the first time out of pure desperation.
To add to this all, the suicide rate increases by 64% and babies concieved on this day out of wedlock skyrocket to a whopping 78%. Just kidding. I made these two up, but I bet they didn’t seem so far-fetched considering.
Only 1 in 4 people in the United States even CELEBRATE this day. What am I missing here? How can we even afford such luxuries in a time of financial crisis? And what’s the big damn deal anyway?
The Catholic Church recognizes three different saints named Valentine or Valentinus, so there’s no real solid evidence on where this day came from, at least in my expert opinion. All of the aforementioned Valentines were known to be martyrs, which to me just comes across as attention seeking and a little emo (cue My Chemical Romance). One patron Saint was known “supposedly” for helping Christians escape from harsh Roman prisons, and was then killed for his valiant efforts. Not incredibly romantic but heroic all the same. I love you, let’s celebrate over a little bloodshed.
The other guy, whatever, Valentinus, I don’t know too much about, but you are welcome to Google him. Frankly, I got bored reading about what he did and didn’t do and how it related to boxed candies and flowers and paper hearts. I’ve never been very good at history anyway, so I’d probably get the facts wrong. Long story short, he was probably stabbed violently; I know, it makes me swoon too.
The most infamous of all three notorious Valentines is the man who is most highly accredited with helping fuel our modern day Valentine’s Day celebrations. Something, something, he fell in love with a young girl and was then imprisoned, and in what I would imagine to be incredible boredom and lack of physical contact with any type of woman, wrote her a love letter and signed it “Your Valentine”. The fable doesn’t indicate whether this young girl even reciprocated the feelings that our hero Valentine felt. He, in fact, might have been the earliest known creeper for all we know. Personally, I’m not impressed. And he died anyway. How does any of this conjure up images of rose petals and long passionate kisses?
Don’t get me wrong, as I always say, I love love. I would roll around in a field of love flowers if I knew where they grew. I am a firm believer that there is always hope for the heartbroken and I definitely believe in one true love. I’m certain I am not the first person to question why we need a special day to show everyone in our life that we care about and love them and need them in our lives.
Hell, I LOVE presents, but a generic card and half-dead roses would never touch the depths of my heart the way a simple everyday gesture does. Valentine’s Day makes me feel like the one I love is OBLIGATED to get me something meaningful or I might freak out and update my Facebook status to “SOOO OVER IT! IT’S VALENTINE’S DAY AND HE DIDN’T EVEN REMEMBER. FML.” And then unfriend him.
I’m not even about to get mushy here, so don’t get it twisted, partners. I’ve never been swept off my feet by candlelit dinners, serenades, hand-painted portraits of myself or weird haikus about the splendor of my hair. I love daily. Wholeheartedly. I am in love currently. I LOVE all my friends and my family and my co-workers and my favorite checker at the grocery store and the mailman and the kid that runs down my street with scissors. I have so much love to give that I could never afford to buy enough things to prove this to everyone, nor fit it all into one day.
I think that clarifies things. Dear St.Valentine, so you wrote a note, I wrote an essay. I win.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Fighting the Good Fight
Conversations with friends.
A friend told me something today. Excuse me for paraphrasing but in essence, she said “If you feel so different about this, then you hold onto it until you KNOW it’s not worth it anymore”. I don’t know what hit me so hard about her words, but immediately I became a crying mess at my work desk and my well applied eyeliner started pooling up in the corners of my eyes. The good news is, I always end up looking like a wild animal, no matter the day or the mood I’m in, so I think I am pretty well concealed in my quiet tantrum-throwing. Some days are just hard.
We all fight. We struggle and kick and throw our expensive phones at walls and break them into a million pieces. We stomp around and stub our toes. We argue over who left dishes in the sink, we fight about who gets to choose the movie for the night. Sometimes we war over justice, or a movement that we don’t really understand but have to be a part of or we’ll look like we’re uncaring.
We hold onto grudges, we hold hands, we hold onto dreams and ideals and pave paths covered in pretty moss and lilies. We hold onto love and hold onto defeat. We are the clingiest species alive.
But what do we really fight for? And when does fighting for something cross the line and then become stubbornness? If I can grasp the concept of hope versus wishful thinking, I think I can get a grip on what, when, where and how to fight for what I want, believe in or feel is right. Right? Right?! And is holding onto something fighting? Maybe that’s considered entrapment, or stalking, for that matter. How long do you hold on? How long do you fight?
See the pattern here; it all comes down to answers that I don’t think I have in my library of knowledge. So where do we start? Where do I start, that’s the real question, because if I don’t know where I’m starting, I sure as hell can’t help you all figure out your life’s destination. Sorry.
When I picture the fight, for life, for whatever, I automatically lend myself images from Rome. Spear at the ready, I am bound in leather and metal and feathered up like a proud peacock. With a throaty yell, I leap forward, tiny skirt billowing out, chest glistening with the sweat of previous battles. I am solid in form, and unwavering. My eyes are focused. This is the end all struggle, and I came here to conquer. This…is…SPARTA!
I am ridiculous, but it’s wonderful.
I know. I tend to go over the top. Go hard or go home, run at that wall until you run right through it. Walk away bleeding, because at least you know then that you made a true, nitty-gritty effort. Come home with scars and bruises and broken bones. This is how I do it, but maybe I’m doing it all wrong.
What frustrates me about the fight, is when you are in it alone. Sometimes, it’s necessary, but damn, is it ever lonely. And that’s why I fight so hard, and will all my strength, even when there is no one to motivate me. My motivation is what I am fighting for. Lucky for me I have a lot of friends who help me decipher between what is worth fighting for, and when I should lay down my sword and shield.
Right now, the whispered words are “Do not give up”. They are ringing true.
I can’t stop. I’d rather fight than lay down and die. I’d rather hold onto what I believe is right until I find that it is not right anymore; and if it turns out I was wrong all along, I would rather be able to look back and say that it was not a missed opportunity, because I took it. Failed opportunities do not equal ultimate failure.
As always, I will remind you that I am not only a doctor, but a great philosopher, and am quite sure of my words.
So here I am, holding on to mercy. If mercy is a balloon that’s floating away, I am the child with her legs wrapped around a tree branch, clutching to the string.
A friend told me something today. Excuse me for paraphrasing but in essence, she said “If you feel so different about this, then you hold onto it until you KNOW it’s not worth it anymore”. I don’t know what hit me so hard about her words, but immediately I became a crying mess at my work desk and my well applied eyeliner started pooling up in the corners of my eyes. The good news is, I always end up looking like a wild animal, no matter the day or the mood I’m in, so I think I am pretty well concealed in my quiet tantrum-throwing. Some days are just hard.
We all fight. We struggle and kick and throw our expensive phones at walls and break them into a million pieces. We stomp around and stub our toes. We argue over who left dishes in the sink, we fight about who gets to choose the movie for the night. Sometimes we war over justice, or a movement that we don’t really understand but have to be a part of or we’ll look like we’re uncaring.
We hold onto grudges, we hold hands, we hold onto dreams and ideals and pave paths covered in pretty moss and lilies. We hold onto love and hold onto defeat. We are the clingiest species alive.
But what do we really fight for? And when does fighting for something cross the line and then become stubbornness? If I can grasp the concept of hope versus wishful thinking, I think I can get a grip on what, when, where and how to fight for what I want, believe in or feel is right. Right? Right?! And is holding onto something fighting? Maybe that’s considered entrapment, or stalking, for that matter. How long do you hold on? How long do you fight?
See the pattern here; it all comes down to answers that I don’t think I have in my library of knowledge. So where do we start? Where do I start, that’s the real question, because if I don’t know where I’m starting, I sure as hell can’t help you all figure out your life’s destination. Sorry.
When I picture the fight, for life, for whatever, I automatically lend myself images from Rome. Spear at the ready, I am bound in leather and metal and feathered up like a proud peacock. With a throaty yell, I leap forward, tiny skirt billowing out, chest glistening with the sweat of previous battles. I am solid in form, and unwavering. My eyes are focused. This is the end all struggle, and I came here to conquer. This…is…SPARTA!
I am ridiculous, but it’s wonderful.
I know. I tend to go over the top. Go hard or go home, run at that wall until you run right through it. Walk away bleeding, because at least you know then that you made a true, nitty-gritty effort. Come home with scars and bruises and broken bones. This is how I do it, but maybe I’m doing it all wrong.
What frustrates me about the fight, is when you are in it alone. Sometimes, it’s necessary, but damn, is it ever lonely. And that’s why I fight so hard, and will all my strength, even when there is no one to motivate me. My motivation is what I am fighting for. Lucky for me I have a lot of friends who help me decipher between what is worth fighting for, and when I should lay down my sword and shield.
Right now, the whispered words are “Do not give up”. They are ringing true.
I can’t stop. I’d rather fight than lay down and die. I’d rather hold onto what I believe is right until I find that it is not right anymore; and if it turns out I was wrong all along, I would rather be able to look back and say that it was not a missed opportunity, because I took it. Failed opportunities do not equal ultimate failure.
As always, I will remind you that I am not only a doctor, but a great philosopher, and am quite sure of my words.
So here I am, holding on to mercy. If mercy is a balloon that’s floating away, I am the child with her legs wrapped around a tree branch, clutching to the string.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Up, Up and Away
I’ve been meaning to write something about the New Year for, well, about two weeks now. I started a rough draft, and in my typical rambling fashion, it involved a lot of analogies and bubbles and frill about how far I’ve come since “this time last year”. The absolute truth is, I have, but I don’t shout this in a bragging fashion. I fell directly onto my face more times than I can recall in 2011. Well, the truth is, I can recall but I don’t think it’s necessary to rehash all my failed moments and shortcomings; after all, it is a new year. So let’s get down to the point of this all: yeah, it’s a new year, but I am not an entirely new person. I’ve grown and I’ve changed and I’ve learned, but I am still me. The same heart beats in my chest, the same thoughts run through my same brain and I am still stubborn as an angry old mule and hot-headed and vivacious and loud and funnier than most people I know. My hair has changed color, but I am not altogether that much different in regards to my soul.
I asked myself why I couldn’t start writing this two weeks ago. I talk to myself frequently and openly, with unabashed frankness and lack of embarrassment, for the few that don’t understand me yet. I just couldn’t put down lies. I feel that every word I typed out was stained with falseness. With manipulation and a fighting attempt to convince myself that everything was illuminated in my life, I know I could write down that I this year I rode in the rodeo or that I made a huge sum of cash knitting doilies for tables and no one would know the difference. I could say that my heart was light and my mind was clear and that I had discovered a way to stop interrupting and started eating only carrots. I could knit a tale that would astound. But…I didn’t. Truth is (and I think that’s the most important phrase that I could ever employ), sometimes I am still a mess.
It’s been a rough go so far this year, but not lacking in promises of a better future. Last year I learned how stubborn I can be, and how viciously my words cut. I made a truckload of bad decisions, intermixed with a lot of whiskey and cigarettes and sleepless nights. Maybe I should have tried harder, worked out more, gone to church and invested in a more reliable source of entertainment and distraction. Maybe I should have spent more time with friends and family and on bettering myself, but for whatever reason, most of those good things I could have done fell by the wayside.
I fell in love, and hell, that was the most unexpected adventure of 2011. It was like anticipating getting on the Ferris wheel and having a nice slow ride, and ending up strapped to a rollercoaster (upside down). A really fun, amazing rollercoaster that I would have never expected to end up loving. Does that work as an analogy, folks? Because it’s the best I could come up with. I’m not going to write a lot about this, because it wasn’t and isn’t some torrid affair, some cheap and tawdry adventure. It runs true and deep to this moment, and my hopes are high that at some point again this year, I’ll get to climb aboard again on that very same ride. You know who you are, and you’ll probably never read this, but you are close to my heart and always in my thoughts. I refuse to, and here’s my stubbornness making an appearance, believe that you are temporary.
I said hope, just a few seconds ago. Besides telling the truth about things, the other main focus this year has been on “hope”. Already it’s what I cling to and pray about and keep active in my being. To me, being hopeful is not being wishful. Being hopeful does not mean setting yourself up for failure or disappointment. Wishfulness is wistful and a flight of fancy that I don’t have time to include in my daily activities. Being wishful is hope minus effort. Being wishful is hoping things will change unexpectedly and for the better without any energy. Being wishful is a letdown. Instead I hope, and have hopefulness in everything. I have faith in my abilities and the abilities of others around me. I have starting building up my positivity, because if I don’t do anything else this year, I want to actually be a better me. It may sound cliché, but it’s very sincere on this end. I don’t just want to grow from mistakes, I want to expand my boundaries and challenge myself. My heart is open.
So hello 2012. So far, so good? I don’t think that’s entirely appropriate, but so far, so interesting, if I can coin a new phrase. I’ll cheers to waking up every day, the same crazy hair, a car that may need replacing but still chugs through like champ. Cheers to new beginnings and rekindling sparks and lives that will be intertwined this year. Here’s to the unexpected.
I asked myself why I couldn’t start writing this two weeks ago. I talk to myself frequently and openly, with unabashed frankness and lack of embarrassment, for the few that don’t understand me yet. I just couldn’t put down lies. I feel that every word I typed out was stained with falseness. With manipulation and a fighting attempt to convince myself that everything was illuminated in my life, I know I could write down that I this year I rode in the rodeo or that I made a huge sum of cash knitting doilies for tables and no one would know the difference. I could say that my heart was light and my mind was clear and that I had discovered a way to stop interrupting and started eating only carrots. I could knit a tale that would astound. But…I didn’t. Truth is (and I think that’s the most important phrase that I could ever employ), sometimes I am still a mess.
It’s been a rough go so far this year, but not lacking in promises of a better future. Last year I learned how stubborn I can be, and how viciously my words cut. I made a truckload of bad decisions, intermixed with a lot of whiskey and cigarettes and sleepless nights. Maybe I should have tried harder, worked out more, gone to church and invested in a more reliable source of entertainment and distraction. Maybe I should have spent more time with friends and family and on bettering myself, but for whatever reason, most of those good things I could have done fell by the wayside.
I fell in love, and hell, that was the most unexpected adventure of 2011. It was like anticipating getting on the Ferris wheel and having a nice slow ride, and ending up strapped to a rollercoaster (upside down). A really fun, amazing rollercoaster that I would have never expected to end up loving. Does that work as an analogy, folks? Because it’s the best I could come up with. I’m not going to write a lot about this, because it wasn’t and isn’t some torrid affair, some cheap and tawdry adventure. It runs true and deep to this moment, and my hopes are high that at some point again this year, I’ll get to climb aboard again on that very same ride. You know who you are, and you’ll probably never read this, but you are close to my heart and always in my thoughts. I refuse to, and here’s my stubbornness making an appearance, believe that you are temporary.
I said hope, just a few seconds ago. Besides telling the truth about things, the other main focus this year has been on “hope”. Already it’s what I cling to and pray about and keep active in my being. To me, being hopeful is not being wishful. Being hopeful does not mean setting yourself up for failure or disappointment. Wishfulness is wistful and a flight of fancy that I don’t have time to include in my daily activities. Being wishful is hope minus effort. Being wishful is hoping things will change unexpectedly and for the better without any energy. Being wishful is a letdown. Instead I hope, and have hopefulness in everything. I have faith in my abilities and the abilities of others around me. I have starting building up my positivity, because if I don’t do anything else this year, I want to actually be a better me. It may sound cliché, but it’s very sincere on this end. I don’t just want to grow from mistakes, I want to expand my boundaries and challenge myself. My heart is open.
So hello 2012. So far, so good? I don’t think that’s entirely appropriate, but so far, so interesting, if I can coin a new phrase. I’ll cheers to waking up every day, the same crazy hair, a car that may need replacing but still chugs through like champ. Cheers to new beginnings and rekindling sparks and lives that will be intertwined this year. Here’s to the unexpected.
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