Love, too, is a thing with feathers

Any one from UBS knows I ripped off the title for this entry from the marketing slogan our store used for Valentine's day. But if there's a more appropriate source of Valentine's Day-related inspiration than an advertisement, I can't think of it. Anyway, this line was pasted around my store for the last few weeks (it's a reference to Emily Dickinson's "hope is a thing with feathers", but, hopefully, not intended as a dig at the poor old spinster.) I don't mean to be a complete cliche by choosing this to frame my rant about love, but I suppose it was this slogan, more than anything, that's had me thinking about the absence of romantic love in my life.

My life is good. I'm doing well in school, I've got a job I enjoy, I'm looking at only a few months until Africa and graduation. I am steady and sane and, other than the insomnia, pretty healthy. I have a lot to be thankful for. So when Valentine's Day rolled around, I really didn't feel so bad about not having a boyfriend. I looked up the other day and realized almost every one I know is in a couple. Sisters, roommates, friends, even those who are (forgive me) usually as bad as I am at love are not only in relationships, they're happy and making it all look as easy as breathing. And, much as it pains me to admit, just as necessary.

I have a friend who has often given me advice in this area of my life, and he would tell me it is because I care too much. This is his nice way of saying "don't act so desperate, silly". He's probably more right than I want to admit. There are days (like today) when I feel not just unwanted but unwantable. And then, just when I'm really starting to get excessive in the self-pity, I remember New Year's Eve.

Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe my friends put him up to it. Whatever the case a nice, good-looking, apparently sane man decided to spend a good part of the night kissing me. It was the first time in.. well.. longer than I'd care to admit.. and it was fun. A little scary, a little intense, but mostly fun. When we parted ways at the end of the night he didn't tell me he'd call me or try to act like any of it meant anything (he lives far away) but he did tell me that he wanted me to know I was attractive and sexy and totally desirable. (This is maybe the part that, especially after watching this week's episode of 30 Rock, makes me wonder if he was put up to it by my dear friends.) And yes, the independent, Elizabeth Cady Stanton-tattooed feminist in me knows that I don't need a man to tell me I'm sexy to feel sexy. I don't. But, especially when it has been years since a straight man who is not one of your married or taken brother figures who HAS to call you pretty because mom will ground him otherwise, it is really nice to hear.

So thank you, Stranger, for the fond (if hazy) memories that remind me on nights like tonight to put down the ice cream and stop feeling sorry for myself. I do believe that I will find love (or that it will find me) when the time is right. And there are nights like tonight (or weeks like this week) when the loneliness seems like it's bigger than all of the blessings I should be focusing on. But these nights (and weeks) will pass. I will sleep (or not) and tomorrow I'll drink coffee by myself and watch the other people in a coffee shop or walk home alone in the moonlight with my headphones on and remember that being alone has its upsides, too. I'm not sure what the marketing department at UBS was getting at with the whole feathers thing, but if they mean that love is fragile, flighty, impossible to catch, (and sometimes eats your small pets) well, I guess I agree.

Happy Valentine's Day, from Emily and I.