Hi, stranger.
Now, consider that daughter Francesca has graduated from college and is living at home, temporarily. She’s deciding what to do and where to do it, and sooner or later, she’s going to fly the coop for good. I won’t be able to say “pleasant dreams” to her anymore. I don’t know how to prepare for that, and wouldn’t try if I did. I’m just grateful for the time we have together.
And so, to me, that’s the weird thing about Life in the Middle Ages. We are all of us, in some way, waiting to be left.
We exist in a state of emotional suspended animation.
It ain’t easy, and it makes me wonder:
Aren’t we really women “of an uncertain age?”
Love
Whenever Valentine’s Day comes up, the newspaper, TV, and stores are full of heart-shaped candy boxes, roses, and jewelry for “that special someone.” The holiday has become a celebration of romantic love, and that’s great if you’re in a romance or you’re married, which is like having an automatic valentine.
But not everyone is so lucky.
There are plenty of people who aren’t seeing someone right now, which is code for haven’t had a date in 55 years. Like me. And that’s okay, every day except Valentine’s Day.
Single people feel like losers on Valentine’s Day. They’re left out of the hearts and candy. They become wallflowers at the party of life.
This is sad, and wrong. I think it’s time to revisit the way we think about Valentine’s Day. So welcome to another trademark Scottoline time-to-change-things story, wherein my bossy and controlling nature works to my advantage, for once.
To begin, I did some research, and I learned that St. Valentine’s Day was intended to celebrate a loving man, a priest so sweet, giving, and devout that he became a saint. Historically, his day had nothing to do with romance. In fact, it wasn’t until the Middle Ages, when Geoffrey Chaucer wrote a poem entitled a Parliament of Foules, that St. Valentine’s Day became associated with romantic love.
Aha! So the link between Valentine’s Day and romance is pure fiction. Chaucer made it up, and trust me, he did it to move some poems. Sex sells. Romance novels are bestsellers for a reason, and even my books have sex scenes, which I write from memory.
And now I forget.
Given that the history of the holiday is so sketchy, I feel free to write on a clean slate. In other words, I can make it up, too.
And if you ask me, Valentine’s Day is really about love. Not only romantic love, but also just plain love. And if you’re not married or seeing someone, you can still have love in your life.
Observe.
In my case, I have tons of love in my life. I love my kid, my family, and my friends. I love the people I work with. I love my readers. I love my dogs, cats, and pony. I love spaghetti. I love opera. I love books. I love Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall.
In short, I love.
If I were going to improve on that maxim of Descartes, “I think, therefore I am,” I’d say, “I love, therefore I am.” Or instead of Pope’s saying, “To err is human,” I’d go with, “To love is human.” Plus I agree completely with that great philosopher James Taylor, who tells us to “shower the people you love with love.”
So I propose that, on Valentine’s Day, we celebrate love. Shower the people you love with love. Don’t take each other for granted. Recognize that we grow more valuable to each other as time passes, not less. Raise a glass to someone you love, in celebration of an emotion that powers our best intentions, leads to our greatest happiness, and gives us the stories of the world’s greatest operas, movies, and novels.
In addition to Gossip Girl.
Now, there may be some of you reading this who have no one. Maybe you’ve lost someone, or they’re far away, and you’re left hiding in your house or apartment, waiting for Valentine’s Day to pass.
Here’s my advice to you:
Find the love in your life, because it’s all around you. And if you can’t find it, make it yourself.
Make love.
And by that, I don’t mean match.com.
I mean, adopt a dog and love it. Buy it a pretty collar and walk it around the block. A cat works, too. Cats like pretty collars, even though they’re too proud to say so. Or get a fish. There’s no shame in love you can buy, even if it has scales. I don’t think goldfish get enough credit. Not everybody can look good in orange.
Or read a book that everyone says is great. You’ll find a story you love, and maybe an author. Or if you don’t like to read, go see Legends of the Fall. You’ll love Brad Pitt, whether you’re a man or a woman.
And if none of that appeals to you, volunteer at a shelter or a hospital. Cook a meal for the parents at Ronald McDonald House, like a friend of mine did.
Because the thing about love is that we can’t control whether we get it, but we can control whether we give it.
And each feels as good as the other.
Your heart doesn’t know whether it’s loving a man, a TV show, or a guppy. If your heart were that smart, it would be your brain.
All your heart knows is that it’s full and happy, and you will feel alive and human.
And next time, you will have a wonderful Valentine’s Day.
And, better yet, a wonderful life.
Acknowledgments
Usually, in my novels, the Acknowledgments are the place where I step out of character, write in my own voice, get personal, and thank people whom readers may not know. But this time, the entire book is personal, and you’ve already met those who deserve my deepest thanks—my extraordinary mother Mary, brother Frank, and daughter Francesca.
And my father, Frank Scottoline.
And don’t forget best friends, also extraordinary, Franca and Laura.
I love them all and am so grateful to each and every one of them for permitting me to take the stuff of our everyday lives and make it public. Not every author has such an understanding crew, but I am blessed in so many ways, in them. So thank you all so much.
This book wouldn’t have been possible without the opportunity afforded me by the great people at The Philadelphia Inquirer. First, thanks to editor Sandy Clark, who helped me transition from 90,000 words to 900, every week. Weight loss has never been so much fun. Big thanks to publisher Brian Tierney, who has done so much for a city we both love, and thanks, too, Bill Marimow, Ed Mahlman, and Hilary Vadner.
Behind the scenes, too, is my wonderful agent Molly Friedrich, with her SWAT team of combination agents/cheerleaders/therapists, Paul Cirone and Lucy Carson. Lucy is the girl genius who called this book a mix tape, which I stole gratefully. Thanks so much and lots of love for all you have done for me and my books, for so many years.
Big thanks and love to the amazing people at St. Martin’s Press: John Sargent, Sally Richardson, Matt Baldacci, Matthew Shear, Jeff Capshew, Courtney Fischer, John Murphy, John Karle, and Mary Beth Roche, Laura Wilson, and the other great folks in audio. And above all, my terrific editor, Coach Jen Enderlin.
Finally, permit me a special thank-you to my favorite tea bags—Jen, Molly, Laura, and Franca. These women are extraordinary in so many ways, and they make me feel that I can be myself and say it all, out loud. It’s why they are not only great women but also great moms.
Thank you so much, ladies, for helping me find my own voice.
It’s every woman’s journey.
Lisa Scottoline, Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog
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