Too much pressure. Too much agony. Too much pain.
That is Valentine's Day.
I have always thought that this was one of those "made-up," bullshit holidays anyhow.
Seriously, how did we decide to take the celebration of a patron saint who was beat to death before beheading, and suddenly make it full of red heart shaped boxes of chocolate candy?
The meaning of the holiday becomes lost on me when all I see is naked commercialism forcing poor saps to trod into card and gift stores to buy tomes of affection contained in limerick form, trinkets, baubles, and confections to demonstrate affection and care. Then there is the obligatory date, the dinner costs, the movie or entertainment expenses.
Why? Why? Why?
Is this to demonstrate "true love?" By exercising this great exercise of consumerism, are we making sure that the most important person in our lives really knows how much we care? Are we just providing a fiscal stimulus to the struggling rose flower agricultural industry?
Why do these kind acts of affection have to be limited to just one day a year? Why put all that pressure to make just one day perfect? Isn't it more important to do that everyday, or at the very least, when is not expected and a pleasant surprise?
This Tuesday, February 16, 2010 will officially commemorate the passing of 19 years since my spouse and I had our very first blind date. We have been exclusive since that point. We have been married for twelve years, working on lucky 13 as I pontificate. Oddly enough, as I find myself commiserating about the oncoming mark of "middle age" this November, my wife noted in passing that, this time next year, we will have both spent more of our lives together than without.
In 367 days, I will have been with her for more than half of my existence on the face of this planet.
I don't need a "card holiday" to remind me that I love her more today than I did all those years ago.
I don't need red and pink decorations to remind me of how cherished and special my two daughters are in my heart.
So, why then do I have to play along with Valentine's Day and do all of these things that are required by the female predisposition to this one day a year? Why am I compelled to buy cards to show my love this day picked randomly on a calendar by some guy in Rome more than 2,000 years ago?
I mean, I already have their birthdays, Mother's Day, and my anniversary to buy cards and material offerings to them feel special. These important and unique days are spent buying a nice meal, providing gifts, and require spending 30 minutes to an hour in the Hallmark store.
I guess that I simply surrender and comply because it is just expected of me.
I do the things that are required because they would be crushed if I did not perform as conditioned.
I do these things because I do actually love them.
So, like Pavlov's dog, I will probably perform my identical response next February as well.
That is Valentine's Day.
I have always thought that this was one of those "made-up," bullshit holidays anyhow.
Seriously, how did we decide to take the celebration of a patron saint who was beat to death before beheading, and suddenly make it full of red heart shaped boxes of chocolate candy?
The meaning of the holiday becomes lost on me when all I see is naked commercialism forcing poor saps to trod into card and gift stores to buy tomes of affection contained in limerick form, trinkets, baubles, and confections to demonstrate affection and care. Then there is the obligatory date, the dinner costs, the movie or entertainment expenses.
Why? Why? Why?
Is this to demonstrate "true love?" By exercising this great exercise of consumerism, are we making sure that the most important person in our lives really knows how much we care? Are we just providing a fiscal stimulus to the struggling rose flower agricultural industry?
Why do these kind acts of affection have to be limited to just one day a year? Why put all that pressure to make just one day perfect? Isn't it more important to do that everyday, or at the very least, when is not expected and a pleasant surprise?
This Tuesday, February 16, 2010 will officially commemorate the passing of 19 years since my spouse and I had our very first blind date. We have been exclusive since that point. We have been married for twelve years, working on lucky 13 as I pontificate. Oddly enough, as I find myself commiserating about the oncoming mark of "middle age" this November, my wife noted in passing that, this time next year, we will have both spent more of our lives together than without.
In 367 days, I will have been with her for more than half of my existence on the face of this planet.
I don't need a "card holiday" to remind me that I love her more today than I did all those years ago.
I don't need red and pink decorations to remind me of how cherished and special my two daughters are in my heart.
So, why then do I have to play along with Valentine's Day and do all of these things that are required by the female predisposition to this one day a year? Why am I compelled to buy cards to show my love this day picked randomly on a calendar by some guy in Rome more than 2,000 years ago?
I mean, I already have their birthdays, Mother's Day, and my anniversary to buy cards and material offerings to them feel special. These important and unique days are spent buying a nice meal, providing gifts, and require spending 30 minutes to an hour in the Hallmark store.
I guess that I simply surrender and comply because it is just expected of me.
I do the things that are required because they would be crushed if I did not perform as conditioned.
I do these things because I do actually love them.
So, like Pavlov's dog, I will probably perform my identical response next February as well.
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