The Simple Everyday is More Valentine’s Than February 14th
Every February 14, we get a cultural nudge to pause and say, in simple terms, I love you. The interesting part is that Valentine’s Day did not start as a neatly packaged day of romance. It is tied to early Christian stories about martyrs named Valentine, and later church tradition that placed St Valentine’s Day on February 14. Over time, particularly in the Middle Ages, the day became associated with courtship and romantic love. That evolution matters to me because it mirrors my own learning curve.
When I got married more than 25 years ago, I thought I understood love. I was sincere, committed, and optimistic. But if I am honest, I mostly understood love as a feeling and a promise. I did not yet understand love as endurance. I did not understand it as quiet sacrifice. I did not understand it as choosing someone again and again when the day is long, the news is hard, or the future feels uncertain.
I understand more now.
In the last year, I have had two knee surgeries. Recovery has a way of shrinking your world. Your calendar changes. Your energy changes. Your patience gets tested. And the smallest things become a lot harder than you expect. What I remember most is not the inconvenience. It is my wife showing up, again and again, without keeping score. She has been generous with her time, her attention, and her care. She noticed what I needed before I said it out loud, and she almost always put me first.
The same was true when my dad passed. Grief is not efficient. It does not follow a schedule. It comes in waves, sometimes when you think you are doing just fine. In that season, my wife was steady. Not dramatic. Not performative. Just present. She created space for me to be sad, to remember, to be quiet, and to be fully human. And she was more there when I needed a hug or just someone to sit with, quietly.
And then there are the small things. The things that will never make it into a Valentine’s Day card. As stupid as it sounds, as an example, it is a haircut. Every three weeks, my wife cuts my hair. It is not something she enjoys. My hair grows fast, I do not want to pay for haircuts, and she knows that. So she does it. Carefully. Patiently. Without complaining. That simple act says more to me about love than almost anything else. It is practical. It is repetitive. It is inconvenient. And it is done entirely because she loves me. And there are a million more examples of that level of “insignificant” that are small gifts to me that I sometimes do, and need to more, appreciate.
If Valentine’s Day grew into a day for romance over time, that makes sense. The best love does not usually announce itself with one big moment. It becomes clear through repetition. Through ordinary days. Through the unglamorous work of partnership.
So yes, I will celebrate my wife on Valentine’s Day. But the real lesson, after more than 25 years, is this. The greatest gift is not the card or the dinner. It is the person who keeps choosing you. All year long.
