Valentine’s Day was yesterday, and I didn’t celebrate it. February 14 is the day most people in the USA, and some other countries, celebrate Valentine’s Day. It is the time to show the person you cherish most, that you love them. I didn’t do that yesterday.

If you haven’t picked up, I’m not a fan of Valentine’s Day. I have my personal reasons for not being a fan. They have nothing to do with my gender. They likewise have nothing to do with my affection towards my wife. I am not a fan because it’s a contrived expression of love.

As February 14 comes into view, men and women across the USA expect their significant other to convey their love through material possessions and romantic gestures. 

Yesterday, going into a store, it wasn’t complicated to notice the card displays specific to Valentine’s. The crimsons and pinks with decorative hearts are characteristic of these types of displays. In front of them are gobs of individuals seeking the perfect card to reveal their love.

The flower department is just as crowded, if not more so. If they don’t think about it very much, they go for the classic interpretation of love. The rose bouquet, the arrangement that has been reported to us ever since we were young, that it’s a symbol of love. If someone seeks an uncommon expression, they may pick out a more vibrant arraignment, which by my limited observation was scarce.

Why do we do this? Because they teach us, this is the best way to illustrate our love. Not everybody thinks this, but I speculate a healthy majority do. It boils down to a production.

We perform to make our significant other feel happy, feel significant, and show we love them. One time out of the year, we go out of the way to show the individual we “treasure” that our feelings are genuine. 

Where is the romance in this? Where is the wonder? Where is the passion? Love does not call for one specific day of the year, let alone sets specific assumptions for how this love should be performed.

If you don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day, there is a stigma, and that’s a shame. So people play into it.

When does anybody get to tell me to declare my love on a specific day and if I don’t, it will scorn me? Why?

Why don’t I celebrate Valentine’s Day?

Because every day is Valentine’s Day for me. I have been showing my affection for my wife throughout the year. I don’t have to simmer it down to a particular day. We share our love spontaneously.

The surprise flowers when she reveals a tough day. Cooking for the household when she is overworked. The charming little kisses and the plain “I love you’s” that get shared between us.

Valentine’s Day has turned into a day when people are free to communicate their love, because it’s demanded of them. Instead, I propose that people should be open enough to do it all year around, then Valentine’s Day won’t be the cash grab it is.

But there is more to it. Something deeper that Valentine’s Day can capture. Love is sacrifice, and there is no way to convey that on a precise period of the year.

The grandest of love is when a person would sacrifice their own welfare, their own comfort and even their own life for another. This love is an attitude, it’s a lifestyle.

It’s the people that put their life on the line to help another. It’s the people that run into danger instead of away. It’s the people that have the fortitude to help the feeble and powerless.

These are people of courage, of action, of wisdom. They recognize that love isn’t a diamond, it’s a philosophy that they convey to others.

In today’s culture, we have this craving to know we are prized by being purchased a cute card, a fluffy stuffed animal or a package of chocolates. This misses the powerful picture that love should be promoted on a more routine basis than a single day.

True love is sacrificial and we can never reveal it one day of the year by a card or a few flowers. This lifestyle is in endless motion year around.

How does my wife feel about this? She supports it. She feels I cherish her by my expressions all year around. Will we ever celebrate Valentine’s Day? Maybe, but it won’t look any more distinct from the other 364 days that year.