This post is the genesis of much internal turmoil and self-debate, as there are a number of angles I can come at Valentine’s Day with. The original plan was to come at it from my typical tongue-in-cheek style with a pinch of self-deprecation and bitterness over being single for the 20th time on the 14th of February. I could have made jokes about it being a “Hallmark holiday” and all that, like I typically do. Then, I came across Agricola’s post entitled Pad 39, a really nifty, sentimental piece about a part of his teenager-hood. A portion of the post, in which he compares his first kiss to “sticking [his] finger in an electric socket,” was really inspiring, and I nearly wrote about my first kiss, which was electric in its own right — it was on the beach with lightning in the distance, an unusually fitting first kiss for a weather nerd such as myself.
Then, I realized the timing of this year, and the subject matter of this post completely changed. Despite the risk of being accused of living in the past and dredging up old things that are likely irrelevant, I must use this precious space to do the right thing.