I went out by myself on Valentine's Day this year.I say "this year" because most years I do nothing. I don't "hate" the day, as is generally assumed about most single people at this time of year; in fact, I don't really pay it much attention, except for the candy sales that roll around the day after. I AM aware that my coupled-up friends have their plans, because I usually hear about them when the day has come and gone.
I've been single pretty much my whole life, by choice (and other variables I won't go into here).
I immersed myself in the safety of academic pursuits and when I was through with that, working and ruminating on a career path. I told myself I didn't have time to seek out companionship, and have so far lived my life according to that belief.
But this past Valentine's Day, things changed. Because I wanted them to change. Because I want to rewrite the script that would have me believe I "don't have time" to fit companionship into my life. Whatever has finally shifted and softened in my stubborn, I-can-do-this-life-alone mind set allowed me to Google "Singles Valentine's Day Events Portland Oregon 2011," and what I came up with was a blast.
Singles CPR.
No, not mouth-to-mouth with strangers; we used plastic dummies. But the plastic dummies were in a hotel conference room with about 15 strangers, every one of them probably as nervous as I was.
When I came across the American Red Cross announcement, I was immediately intrigued; here was a Valentine's Day event that didn't involve painful small talk, forced mingling or the need to whip out the frothiest frock I own and put myself out there in a way that made me want to shrivel up and die. It was a PRACTICAL event--which appealed to me greatly. We would be doing something, and that something involved saving lives. Plastic lives, but lives nonetheless.
When the day rolled around, I was anticipatory. Happily excited and a little nervous. I work a recovery (12-step--in this case, Al-Anon) program, and we sometimes refer to the negative keep-you-stuck voices in our heads as "The Sh*tty Committee." My committee had been trying DESPERATELY to talk me out of following through with my V-Day plans for the ensuing two weeks after I'd sent in my $20 registration. "It's cold," they whined. "It's a work night. You'll need to buy a new blouse.....they'll be younger/older than you. It'll be boring. You'll be embarrassed. Wouldn't it be nice just to stay home with the cats?" etc. etc.
I thanked the voices for their input and went anyway.
I have often found that simply putting my body somewhere I want to be--some event, such as this, that my mind would like to dissuade me from attending--is the healthiest, most effective way for me to "follow through" on things. I also know that, as a Life Coach who regularly encourages my clients to take those bold but sometimes scary steps towards making the changes they desire in their own lives, I need to "walk the walk" and not just "talk the talk." I, too, want to make certain changes (such as finding partnership) that involves taking some risks in my life and taking steps that may feel a little....scary. And each time I do, I am encouraged and emboldened in my objective. It's a step in the right direction, even if it's a new direction. Even if there's fear there. Fear doesn't have to keep us stuck, and expecting it not to be part of the changes we want to make is probably unrealistic. Nor is it about "conquering" the fear. It's about honoring it--acknowledging it--and doing what we'd planned to do anyway. This is how we grow. This is how we begin to truly understand what we're capable of, what our values are, what kinds of people we are in the world. Otherwise, everything stays (safely) tucked in the realm of theory.
When all was said and done, I had a marvelous time, chatted with some people, polished my choking & CPR skills, ate some chocolate and drank some wine. And even ended up on the evening news.
One never knows what they're going to get when they finally step out the front door in bold search of their dreams. Surrender. Have ridiculous fun. Honor your fear--don't fight it. Put your body where it needs to be. Show up. And be ready for anything.
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