It’s understandable why Valentine’s Day has a bad reputation. For those who are single — whether by choice or circumstance, like my friends who are divorced or widowed — acknowledging this romance-centric holiday might deepen their feelings of sorrow or aloneness. Others who are partnered but hate manufactured celebrations might generally take offense to such superficiality.
Inspired by murky traditions from the Romans and Victorians, Hallmark started a revolution when it began offering Valentine’s Day greeting cards in 1913. Today, ready-made expressions of love, including candied conversation hearts and red boxes of chocolates, can feel contrived. A pre-fixe Valentine’s dinner date can strain budgets. And romantic expectations can backfire, leading to acute disappointment.
Despite a not-so-rosy standing, Valentine’s Day remains the most popular day for marriage proposals. Last year, Valentine’s Day spending in the United States reached $24 billion. The longing for romance, it seems, continues to beat beneath the surface. My mother always understood the allure. She had a long-standing tradition of sending Valentine’s cards to her family and friends. She didn’t craft greetings for winter holidays, nor did she send anything for New Year’s. However, for decades, everyone who knew Mildred received a Valentine’s card in their mailbox.
Last February, more than 10 years after her death, I adopted her tradition and made it my own. Instead of sending prefab valentines, I bought beautiful blank cards and wrote a personal note with a quote about love. I snail-mailed them to friends, family, and students. It was a charming, old-school way to connect, a loving act tinged with digital resistance. The following week, my email inbox and voicemail swelled with grateful messages, even from those I suspect eschew Valentine’s Day, underscoring the joy of this authentic connection and validating my efforts.
Aww. Thanks! Made my day.
What a treat to get your valentine.
Sending my love back to you. I was touched.
Your valentine lifted me up during a really tough week.
What a lovely gesture. I’m so glad we’re friends!
There is nothing disingenuous about an intimate, handwritten note. I’ve saved all the Valentine’s cards my mother sent me. They’re tucked away in a box in my closet. At the bottom, she always wrote me a little note and signed it, “Love, Mom,” in her immaculate script. When I sort through the contents of that box, I can see her, red pen in hand, infusing every word — including the comma — with purpose.
I remember the excitement in childhood in the 1960s of making valentines for my classmates with my sister. The dining room table would be strewn with construction paper, doilies, glue, glitter, and pens. I recall that distinct smell of the classroom cubbies where I would secretly deliver my rumpled, asymmetrical creations. I’d clutch my stash in a paper bag, and my stomach would buckle at the thought of finding a card from my current crush.
I carried the homemade tradition forward with my own children, hauling out the art supplies every year, eventually expanding into the sticky mess of Valentine’s cookie decorating with their friends. We would bury ourselves in oodles of sprinkles, pink frosting, and cinnamon hearts. They would take hours to make — and the kitchen cleanup felt even longer — but it was absolutely worth it.
In preparation for this year’s love fest, I began with a search for the perfect blank cards. Simple, elegant, and not too fussy. I found them on Etsy and also purchased a roll of Forever Love stamps. I addressed and stamped the envelopes, then began my quest for the just-right, one-size-fits-all quote — not too sappy, high-brow, or cheesy. For 2023, I went simple with Louisa May Alcott’s “Love is a great beautifier.”
These handwritten notes add a splash of color to an often-dreary month and our monochromatic mailboxes that are usually overstuffed with meaninglessness. The generous sharing of happiness, gratitude, and love keeps my conversations with loved ones alive. As it turns out, when I craft a love note, it also triggers a feel-good dopamine rush for me. Putting pen to paper in this way not only brings a smile to the face of the recipient, but it also makes the sender happy.
It would certainly be less time consuming to BCC everyone I know in my email account, craft a sweet message, and press send. However, that would lessen the exchange and circumvent the intimacy that I seek with the recipients. This year, I am sending out 100 cards in total. It may seem daunting for me to write, “Love, Megan,” dozens of times, but it helps keep my relationships real and my mother’s memory alive.
Megan Vered is a Northern California-based writer who has contributed to the San Francisco Chronicle, Kveller, The Writer’s Chronicle, and The Rumpus.
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