Self-Love

Thoughts on love & gratitude and a gift to myself in the near future

Happy…Friday the thirteenth? Anti-Capitalist-Valentine’s Day? Whatever you want to call this day before Big-Heart-Day, I’m all for it. February 14th doesn’t mean much to me anymore, though I suppose it’s nice that a day meant to celebrate love falls on a Saturday this year.

When my partner asked this week what I wanted to do for Valentine’s Day, I rolled my eyes…then wondered where this jaded feeling comes from. Am I just tired of performing a societal ritual that feels too grounded in traditional gender roles and patriarchy, or is there something deeper behind my negative association with this not-quite holiday?

I wasn’t always nonplussed about this day. As a kid of the 90s, I remember mid-February as an excuse for my teachers to give time for art-making and card-writing, which were two of my favorite activities. We were asked to bring empty shoeboxes in to class, and we’d cover them with construction paper and copious amounts of glitter. In the week leading up to Valentine’s Day, our boxes (which had mail slots cut into their lids) would sit on the classroom’s window ledges and receive anonymous Valentines from classmates. I loved the anticipation and secrecy of this ritual. When it was finally time to open our shoeboxes and comb through the palm-sized cards (most of which were Peanuts/Snoopy themed), I’d try to match each artifact of wobbly handwriting to a classmate. I was especially interested if any of the boys I had crushes had written me a Valentine. (A hopeless romantic even then.)

I got nostalgic this week thinking about that childhood ritual, so after teaching my Dream City class yesterday morning, I went to the CVS in Iowa City’s downtown Old Capitol Mall, hoping to find some little cards. Maybe this contributed to my jaded opinion of the holiday, because the charming Valentine’s cards of my youth apparently only exist on Etsy now. Snoopy’s been replaced with emojis, unicorns, and sports. The three choices of cards sucked, but I opted for the emoji ones because they seemed closest to the innocent-cute of my pre-Internet childhood.

I bought two packs of the sub-par emoji cards to make some last-minute Valentines for my Prairie Lights colleagues. We don’t have decorated shoeboxes, but we have mail cubbies in the office, which seems like the next best thing. As I filled out each card in my sunny living room on Thursday afternoon, I realized this is something I’ve been missing: a chance to show a little love and gratitude to some people I care about. I wish I could say I came up with this gesture out of the blue, but, like so much of life, it came out of a dark place.

At the beginning of this week, my dad had emergency surgery. I won’t get into details out of respect for my family’s privacy, but I can share that there were some complications. He was on a ventilator and unconscious for about a day after the surgery. My mom, sister, and I were quite scared. I was getting ready to fly back to Ohio the morning after this happened when, quite miraculously, he woke up. He’s breathing on his own again, and though he’s still navigating some complex pain, he seems out of the danger zone we weren’t sure he’d make it out of.

My father and I haven’t been close for a number of years, so there were feelings of guilt and regret when I received this news. My first thought was: What kind of daughter chooses to live five hundred miles from her family? I carried this shame with me into a Prairie Lights shift on Tuesday afternoon, and it was so heavy that as soon as one of my colleagues asked how I was—just a simple How-are-you from Kathleen—I broke down.

Kathleen was incredibly kind and offered to walk with me outside for a few minutes. (Another colleague came and took over the register for me.) It was an unseasonably warm day, so we left the bookstore without our coats. The air still had a bite to it, but its crispness helped me calm down and focus. I realized as I told Kathleen what I did and didn’t yet know about my dad that this was why I’d chosen to leave home fourteen years ago: Iowa City has a community that has always been there for me. The people I know here and work with are my chosen family because of their consistent love and support. I had plenty of both in my actual family too, but I think part of becoming an adult is deciding who’s the best fit for you in the life you want. My family gave me a solid foundation from which to build upon, but Iowa City is where I’ve found an actual home.

My guilt dissipated. I went to the back office of Prairie Lights to call my mom. We cried and said as many kind words as we could to each other, and I told her I loved her. She was adamant that it was too early to go home. I think she might have known I would find more comfort with my chosen family.

For now, we’re taking my dad’s health one day at a time. I don’t know what his recovery will look like, but it seems it will take weeks, maybe even months. I’m keeping in touch with my mom daily since she’s his primary caregiver. I worry about her health as much as his…caregiving burnout is real, and it’s something that’s still largely shouldered by women. She has a large support network at home, but if it all becomes too much for her to carry, I’ll find a way to get myself back to Ohio.

For now, I’m trying to be more present in my own life and express gratitude for the people in it—which brings me back to the Valentines. They’re cheesy, but I hope the sentiment still rings true. I didn’t realize until I counted all the PL mailboxes that with the bookselling staff and café baristas combined, there are thirty of us on payroll. That’s kind of extraordinary for a bookstore, isn’t it? And all thirty of my colleagues are extraordinary. I want to remind them of that.

I don’t have a great segue for this, but I want to turn back to the original topic I had for this week: Self-love. You can’t love others unless you love yourself, right? A few weeks ago, I did something a little spontaneous: I booked a week for myself in Paris, in late March. I wanted to wait until this week to announce it here because Paris is the epitome of romance (especially for writers and other artists), and I wanted to write something thought-provoking about loving yourself and not relying exclusively on others to bring you happiness, but this week had others plans for me. I actually got very close to canceling my trip in the uncertain hours of my father’s outcome.

For now, I’m still planning to go on this solo trip—if anything, to prove that it’s not selfish to do something nice for yourself. My partner Zach supports me in this choice; we’re actually each taking a solo trip for ourselves this year. I think I’m motivated to do this now, right at the beginning of middle age, because I want the second half of my life to be as full of possibility and growth as the first. When the inevitable health crisis happens, as it has for my dad, I want to be able to say to myself that I did the best I could with the time I had.

Image description: A picture of my things by a window seat at the Prairie Lights Café: I’m Mostly Here to Enjoy Myself: One Woman’s Pursuit of Pleasure in Paris (which I wrote about briefly last week), a DK Paris Mini Map + Guide, and my favorite breakfast: the PL Early Riser and a Deluxe morning biscuit.

I think I’ll end here for now….my energy’s still not up to par after the week I’ve had. I hope this post will at least offer inspiration or a reminder of sorts. Book that trip that seems too indulgent. Write those silly Valentines. Show the people in your life that you love them however you can. And if you do celebrate Valentine’s Day tomorrow, I hope it’s a good one.