Happy Val-Ain’t-Mine’s Day

Ahh, February 14. Hearts and flowers, chocolate, cupids and dinner in a restaurant. Pink – my least favorite color. This is one U.S. holiday I can seriously do without. The Finns have it right. Here it’s called “Friends’ Day”, and it’s not particularly romantic. Everyone wishes each other a happy day, not just couples, though I suspect the more Americanized version is catching on.

This day has always been disastrous for me, starting with the first one I can remember. It was 5^th grade and I had a crush on a boy named John. I got my parents to take me to a store where I could buy him the biggest  valentine available – covered with flowers and delicate script -- and I had my dad sign it from ‘your secret admirer’ so my handwriting couldn’t be detected. I snuck it into the school coatroom during lunch, though someone probably caught a glimpse of the huge envelope. John’s face burned red as he opened it, and immediately after, the most obnoxious boy in the class said, “I’ll bet it’s from you, Kathy!” My face must have given me away. After that, all I remember is that I somehow got home and lay on my bed in tears, trying to figure out how I could arrange it so I never had to go back to school again.

What was I thinking?

It’s not gotten any better since then. Valentine’s Day builds up so many expectations: the perfect gift, the perfect mood, the perfect outing. Perfect communication. Wonderful memories. No wonder reality can’t compare. When I was first dating the man who would become my husband, we were on a trip together on Valentine’s Day. I could tell he was already regretting being together on such an important couple’s holiday when we weren’t really a couple yet. So when we exchanged cards and gifts – the SAME cards and then the SAME gifts, as it turned out – I think he acted coldly and distantly for the rest of the weekend just to get some room to breathe. I suppose the fact that I can’t remember any other Valentine’s Days spent with him is significant.

 

There’s something that really bothers me about Valentine’s Day, and I think it’s this: if love is a wild force or, as some philosophers have claimed, an illness, one that makes us crazy and irrational and able to commit murder out of jealousy, how can you possibly dedicate one day of the year to celebrating it in fairly prescribed ways – going out to dinner, for example? Shouldn’t these celebrations be more crazy and irrational themselves? And above all spontaneous? 

I dislike Valentine’s Day so much, I’m going to switch topics, though I suppose you will draw connections between them. I wanted to talk about loneliness. But before I do, I should explain this entry’s title. When I was in college, I briefly dated a man named Val. Our relationship ended a few days before Valentine’s Day, and I was relieved, so my roommate at the time and I wished each other a happy Val Ain’t Mine day. We still do.

In the U.S., I was fairly certain that I was the person in my circle of friends who needed more alone time than anyone else. It didn’t seem to matter how much time I spent by myself – I was never lonely. Perhaps it was the perception of the wide circle of acquaintance in the town I lived in for 20 years, the knowledge that I could end my solitude at virtually any time. And – probably not insignificantly – I had pets around all the time. At the height of their population, there were six animals in my home, three dogs and three cats. In addition, I had neighbors whom I knew, and I could see them working in their yards or eating meals on their decks. 

Here in Finland, I live in an apartment building in which almost no one says a word to the other residents. The one exception is the older gentleman with a gentle dog who lives one floor below me. I live far enough from downtown (a 40-minute walk) that it’s not convenient to come see me, so I haven’t done much entertaining, not wanting to inconvenience people. The bus runs between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. on Saturdays and not at all on Sundays, so going out to do something in town takes planning, energy, and/or money. Added to this, many of my colleagues live two hours out of town and are not even in Joensuu on weekends, so the pool of potential activity buddies is small.

This all adds up to a lot of lonely.

But I am not wallowing in my sad little diaspora. I’ve signed a rental contract to move to a neighborhood closer to the university and downtown. The best part about this neighborhood, I’m told, is that it’s more like a community than other places. There are work parties, sauna nights and impromptu gatherings. And two of my colleagues live there. I have a feeling there will be less lonely and more activity in just a month or two.

And I’ve given myself a strict talking-to. Solitude is a gift. I’ve always been very good company for myself, so why don’t I simply enjoy this good company a little more. The only constant in life is change, so they say, so this phase won’t last forever.

So – Happy Valentine’s Day, Happy Friend’s Day, or just plain Happy Day. Really, February 14 is simply another calendar day, and cultural expectations don’t have to be yours or mine.

Though I have to admit: I wouldn't mind if George Clooney -- or his Finnish equivalent -- knocked on my door this evening and asked me out to dinner.

(c) Kathy Saranpa 2014