I can’t help it if I was born on the day of love AKA Valentine’s Day. I want to treat myself to something and I’m not sure what I want.
Lately, I hear more married couples complaining about Valentine’s Day, when all of the single ladies are having Galentine’s Parties and living it up.
I’ll be 47 next week and I can’t help but think I’ve come a long way and still have a long way to go. Roses, candy, lingerie, maybe not lingerie and those conversation hearts all mean it’s time for my birthday.
I’ll be celebrating big this year and by that it means I haven’t made plans and will be spontaneous. A friend from Michigan offered to fly me home for my birthday weekend. Although very tempted I declined.
This birthday feels different and I’m not sure why that is. I don’t need a big production, close friends, music and a bottle of red wine makes for a fun celebration. I might also do my solo dinner at Cantwells again this year on my birthday. It was there that I wrote three chapters of my book. Yes, it’s the day of love, but I feel loved each day God allows me to wake up and face the day.
I’m always calling everyone suga, honey, sweetheart and I tell people I love them all the time. I try to spread love whenever I can, I’m giving hugs to people that probably don’t like to be touched.
This year don’t stress about Cupid and finding love. I’ve learned to let love find me.