I believe that happiness is worth chasing, but increasingly, I don’t believe it is to be found in running, especially from what one deems merely unsatisfactory. Walking out on misery is generally a good decision, but if a life is unsatisfactory, it shouldn’t be pinned on one’s romantic situation by default, not without a thorough emotional and psychological inventory. Also, I’m quite sure that happiness isn’t to be found in the affections of a lover, enjoyable as the affections of a lover may be.
It is interesting, of late, to be surrounded by so much. A good friend, in this husband. A true mate, in my archangel. Children grown and growing, within and without. Not quite, perhaps, all that one might enjoy, but fistsful of happiness, clutched and then released.
Once I would have said yes, I am happy, I am with Li and San and Soren and others. But it was only in that loss that I came to see what it is I truly have. This perhaps is worthy of this St. Valentine, about whom – or whoms – little is known, but that he was a martyr. And so this day tomorrow will create much martyrdom; those who weep for having no one to send the roses; those who weep for being with someone who does not send them.
Put them all to the death, however, and see what lies beneath: Lupercalia, a pagan festival of health and fertility. Ah, I laugh.