Being Mine

And so, it's Valentine's Day. All over Facebook, the declarations of love are interspersed with the jokes about overrated holidays, being perpetually single, and even the rambling whines of people wishing they had someone to receive flowers from, to cuddle with over champagne and strawberries, someone to make them feel worthwhile on this holiday designed to make those of us without Cupid's arrow lodged solidly in our behinds feel like something is missing.

Here's an idea: Be your own damn Valentine.

This is my 34th Valentine's Day as a single woman. That's right. None of my adventures in dating have ever actually coincided with February 14th. But I'm not bitter, because I figured something out--it's not about a supposedly romantic day in the middle of February; it's about experiencing and appreciating love in all of its incredible forms throughout the year. And most importantly, in the last four years especially, I've learned to love myself.

I can almost hear you rolling your eyes. "Yeah, yeah," you're thinking. "This is what single women say on Valentine's Day to save face." Maybe some do, but this woman doesn't. Because I've fought tooth and nail for a long time now to simply love myself enough as I am, and I refuse to let Hallmark tell me any differently.

Today, I celebrate the massive amounts of love I have in my life. Love for my family, who show me every single day that they love me by supporting my dreams and goals, and cheering me on as I decide to sing in a choir, run a 5K, lose 90 pounds, teach in England, be my quirky, adventure-seeking self.

I love my friends, who somehow aren't embarrassed when they're at a beach or a bar with me and I pull out a silly rubber duck for a photo op. The friends who listen to me go on about the guys I'm into or the drama in my life. The guy friend who cheers me on as I become even stronger, and the guy I've dated a bit recently who tells me he likes my brain as much as he likes my looks.

I love the demanding little torbie who insists on getting attention on her own timetable, and I still love the destructive little dork of a ginger I lost in November. I love Mom's sweet little cats.

Every single day, I'm surrounded by love. I don't feel like I'm lacking in any way on Valentine's Day.

And today, I celebrate being my own. I ran a nine-minute mile for the first time in ages (after a recent ho-hum slump in my running) and gloried in the love I feel for my body when I'm working that hard. As I near the four-year anniversary of my first tentative steps into a better lifestyle, I think about how I went from someone who hated seeing pictures of herself, who avoided mirrors--a lady who felt nasty when she sweat--and how I've turned it around to a point where I'm proud of my body, with its muscles and it's fat spots and its abilities.

This is the first Valentine's Day in my whole adult life, really, where I feel fine about being single for it. I feel no need to make it "Singles Awareness Day" or to lament that I'm not in a relationship...because I know, finally, that every day, I'm surrounded by people who care about me in big ways, in small ways. And because of this, I find just...being mine...is so much easier.