Essay: Keeping the Hope as a Hopeless Romantic 

There’s something in the air on Valentine’s Day — and it’s not just love. 

It’s something that compels couples to brag about their love on Instagram and prompts people to spend $2.6 billion on roses. Valentine’s Day is about reminding the world what being in love looks like, which means it’s also intent on reminding us single members of society what we’re missing out on. 

For lack of better terms, being single on the most romantic day of the year sucks. But every year without fail, Feb. 14 rolls around on the calendar, and I find myself fighting to keep hope afloat — even when the holiday offers endless opportunities for despair. 

I’ve been single on enough Valentine’s Days to keep myself from curling up on the couch with Reese’s Pieces while watching “10 Things I Hate About You” on loop. 

I know not to redownload Hinge or wallow in my sorrows because — despite everything — I refuse to believe romance is dead. I believe in all the things Valentine’s Day represents even if relationships aren’t as idealistic as the holiday often paints them to be. 

I’m a romantic, but I’m certainly not hopeless. 

If I were, I’d call my ex, bawl to my friends or pretend it’s just another day. 

But I know not to. Because my ex is my ex for a reason, my friends have dates and hardships of their own and, of course, it’s not just another day.

It may only be 24 hours, but when St. Valentine has never listened to your prayers, it’s a day of deep loneliness and extreme insecurity. 

There’s no good way to be single on the most romantic day of the year. For those of us who feel alone, there are 364 other days — but this is the only one to define us only by our relationship statuses. 

It’s rational to feel emptiness in your heart when you’re single on Valentine’s Day. It’s okay to wish you had someone to share it with — I know I do. But the only way through it is to remember being single isn’t some tragic lifestyle. 

“I’m happy as I am, and love my liberty too well to be in any hurry to give it up for any mortal man,” Jo March says in Louisa May Alcott’s novel “Little Women.” 

And I am happy. 

I’m happy when I’m exploring the city with my friends or when I facetime my mom while cooking dinner. I’m happy when I see Lake Michigan crash against the rocks by the Information Commons and when my roommates and I binge an entire season of “Grey’s Anatomy” in one sitting. 

Happiness can be hard to find with a holiday shoving loneliness in your face with chocolate-covered strawberries and sparkling jewelry. But instead of letting the facade of mass produced love get to you, live the life you have instead of mourning the life you want. 

I don’t know what I’ll do on Valentine’s Day. Perhaps I’ll hang out with my fellow singles. Maybe I will fall victim to “10 Things I Hate About You” and Heath Ledger’s perfect smile. I’m only human, so perhaps I’ll mute the Instagram posts or wistfully daydream when I pass couples on the street. 

But, most likely, I’ll just exist. I’ll try to focus on the same laughter and hardships I carry with me every other day. 

Because, when the clock strikes midnight on Feb. 15, it won’t really matter if no one brought you chocolates. There’s always next year or the one after that. 

I don’t have a baked-in solution for a single’s Valentine’s Day dilemma — nobody does. 

Instead, I have a message.

It’s easy to feel self-conscious when everyone else seems to be loved. But you’re loved, too, and you’re certainly not alone in your feelings. Sometimes you just need a few Valentine’s Days to buy yourself flowers before you can give that honor to someone else.