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A critical yet loving look at Valentine’s Day

Valentine’s Day: love, reluctantly (but with a poem)

406 words, 2 minutes reading time
By: Sjoerd Blom
Sjoerd Blom
Sjoerd Blom is married and the father of two teenage daughters. He loves good food, travel, and technical gadgets. Sjoerd mainly writes about the world, travel, and WordPress.

Let me be honest right away: I have absolutely nothing with Valentine’s Day. In fact, I think it’s a terrible day. There. It’s out. But yes… I’m married. And my wife expects me to do something. So there you are, mid-February, stuck in an internal struggle between principle and pragmatism.

A gift. With a poem. I hear myself say it and instantly feel 83 years old.

To me, Valentine’s Day feels like one big commercial bubble, tightly inflated by marketers with pink confetti in their hair. Everything is more expensive, everything is “romantic”, and everything mainly seems designed to pry money from our consumer pockets.

  • A romantic dinner (with a special Valentine’s menu that just happens to be 40% more expensive)
  • A romantic hotel stay (with rose petals you get to clean up yourself)
  • Expensive boxes of chocolate
  • Even more expensive bouquets

Which inevitably leads to the question: do we really need this?

When exactly did we stop believing that a flower now and then and a sincere “I love you” are enough? When did love become a calendar item with a budget?

Do we, as lovestruck singles, no longer dare to secretly slip a love note into a coat pocket? Or send a message that means nothing more than: I suddenly thought of you?

Maybe I really am a boring old bastard. I won’t rule it out. But sometimes I miss the simplicity. Unplanned love. Moments without a price tag.

Because here comes the twist: I do love my wife. Very much so. And if she’s happy with a small gift and a slightly awkward poem, then I’ll write that poem. With love. And with mild reluctance. But above all, with love.

Not because it’s Valentine’s Day. But because it’s her.

And maybe that’s the compromise: playing along without really believing in it. Much like lighting candles while swearing at IKEA instruction manuals.

Maybe Valentine’s Day is mostly a useful reminder not to forget about it the rest of the year. On 27 March. Or 29 September. Or on a perfectly ordinary Tuesday when no one expects anything.

So yes, I buy a gift. I write a poem. And then I get on with my life, hopefully one in which love isn’t dependent on a commercial holiday.

Happy Valentine’s Day. Or not. That’s fine too ❤️

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