Valentine’s Day is almost here, and I know it’s one of those “holidays” that earns itself a collective side eye from the masses year after year, with remarks about what a made up holiday it is. While that might be true, I, personally, am a fan of the holiday and here’s why.
If you’ve been following YBC® for a while, you know that I travel frequently for work, and the more I travel, the more I am reminded about how busy we are as a culture. Common headlines offer up ideas for how to maintain a work-life balance, and give us tips for being as productive as possible. We are a go-go-go culture, and - I confess - being the true American that I am, I like it. I thrive in the fast pace of my life, and I am inspired and excited by the opportunity that I see in every day as a small business owner, where I try to make something from nothing. For the most part, my days are exciting and I feel driven and motivated.
But - also like the true American I am - I am guilty of getting caught up in it. Finding a work-life balance has been an ongoing pursuit of mine for literal years. I finished 2019 by starting a habit of getting up a few hours earlier so I could ease into the day, but, if I’m being honest, also so I could be more productive and squeeze in a few work tasks prior to the actual start of my work day. Productivity and accomplishment drive much of my day, which can sometimes take away from the relationships I have with the people closest to me.
And so when a day like Valentine’s Day comes around, I hear the proverbial record scratch as my life comes to a momentary halt and I think: Oh yeah. Don’t forget about love.
“Don’t forget about love,” sounds cheesy, I admit, but hear me out.
Love is the undercurrent of nearly everything I do. There is love and intention behind my morning yoga practice, the first email I answer, the phone calls I take, the yoga class I teach, the tax assessor I just called.
Love is the feeling I get when my mom’s name flashes on my phone as she calls me while she’s out for a walk.
Love is laughing hysterically and nonsensically with my friend for no particular reason while out to dinner.
Love is the little wiggle-butt strut my dog does as he prances down the sidewalk on our walks.
Love, to me, is the sound of Otis Redding when my boyfriend turns on the music at 6am to make breakfast.
Love, to me, is seeped in life’s seemingly mundane, forgettable everyday moments, much like what Marie Howe wrote about in her poem, “What the Living Do,” which was written after the loss of her brother.
“What the Living Do:
Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up
waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through
the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too high in here and I can’t turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,
I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,
I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.
What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.
But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep
for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless:
I am living. I remember you.”
As I write this, I am second guessing myself, something else the living do, wondering if maybe I’m being nuts thinking about Valentine’s Day like this, but I’m sticking to my guns. I see Valentine’s Day as a reminder. A reminder to not get so busy making a living that you forget to make a life, as the lovely Dolly Parton once said. While I do try to stay present year round amidst the fast pace of my life, I like that Valentine’s Day is an official reminder to acknowledge the love we have in our hearts for ourselves and others, that is then transferred to the little, seemingly meaningless, almost forgettable things that make life so sweet.
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