Alone, Not Lonely: It’s Okay to Be Riding Solo On Valentine's

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Valentine's Day

The day when restaurants roll out overpriced fixed menus, drugstores stockpile more teddy bears than toilet paper, and social media becomes a battlefield of bouquet bragging rights and oneupmanship. Cue the soppy posts, the glittery hearts, and the couples taking mirrored selfies in matching pajamas.

For many, today is about coupledom. For me? It's about waking up in my own bed, on my own schedule, and realizing I don't have to check with anyone, I can crank up my favourite tunes to an ear shattering level.

I was widowed over 6 years ago - I lost my best friend, a man named Carl who taught me what a relationship should really be like. Valentine’s Day was meaningless to us as we did things to celebrate our love every single day.

Carl was a biker. Not the club kind, not the gang kind. Just an independent soul who lived life in fifth gear and happened to look better in worn leather than any man in a suit ever could. He taught me how to ride a motorcycle, beaming with pride as I rode beside him on the 250cc Kawasaki I learned on - it looked comical next to his Harley. Yes, it was fun to snuggle but he wanted me riding beside him, he wanted to see my face.

Two bikes.

Two engines.

One road.

And a whole lot of wind in our hair and bugs in our teeth.

Before I met Carl, I knew a different kind of marriage. The wrong kind. The kind where you're walking on eggshells, where you have to hide your true self. My ex despised it when I made waves. If I questioned too much, or ruffled the wrong feathers, he would try everything in his power to shut me up. He wanted me small, quiet, and easy to manage.

Carl wanted the opposite. He wanted me loud. He wanted me running my own engine. When I took on the Powers That Be, Carl didn't just support me. He sat back, watched the show, and enjoyed every second of it. You know that eating popcorn meme? That was him. Grinning ear to ear while his wife raised hell and made people squirm, cheering me on every step of the way. No "tone it down," just pure, unadulterated pride in his woman making waves, saying “Give ‘em hell!”.

People see a biker and they think they know the story. They see rough hands and worn boots and assume the heart inside is just as calloused. But Carl was the kind of man who showed love in the most intimate ways - the quiet, unglamorous, deeply human ways that have nothing to do with sex, though I won't lie, that part was pretty great too.

Carl was the kind of man who never told me that I was getting angry over nothing - he helped me though it. When someone pissed me off, he'd help me plot ridiculous fictional schemes of doom and destruction, just to make me laugh. He hugged me whenever I needed it, which was often. We never left each other without a kiss, we always held hands when we were out.

Valentine’s Day 2017 - Carl had passed his swallow test so he was allowed to eat real food for the first time in over 45 days - our kids bought the card, the flowers and the food. Not glamorous but one of the most memorable.

We had a true partnership.

It was never "how can I keep this from my spouse?"

It was always "what can I do to make my spouse happy?"

That didn’t mean grand gestures or expensive gifts. It meant mean love cards and/ or flowers "just because".

Sometimes it was stolen lilacs or just picking up a treat when out shopping.

Sometimes it meant having to dial it back when one or the other was not feeling well.

A love note beside the coffee pot in the morning. Maybe it was something silly that made the other person laugh.

Laughter, after all, was the real engine of our relationship. The ability to find the absurd, to poke fun at ourselves, to look at each other across a crowded room and communicate with a glance. That kind of humor is irreplaceable. It's also non-negotiable. If I ever do share my life again, he'd better have a good sense of humor and his own motorcycle. Possibly his own lilac bush, but I'm willing to be flexible on that last one.

And speaking of engines - and other things that hum - let's be honest: if companionship is really what I'm after these days? There are plenty of battery-operated devices that don't require me to stroke their ego while they're too busy thinking about their own pleasure. Carl had no ego about that - he knew a good teammate when he saw one.

After Carl died, I went through a phase of jealousy when I saw other couples - holding hands, hugging, sharing intimate glances. I wasn't just sad; I was angry - that surprised me.

It wasn't because I wanted someone beside me; it was because I wanted Carl beside me.

Not a body.

Not a placeholder.

Him.

His laugh. His leathers and shorty gloves hanging by the door. The way his face would light up when he saw me come in the room.

That specific, irreplaceable person.

Now? I am content to be alone. I have the same freedom I felt after I split from my ex.

Let's enumerate the advantages.

I don't have to negotiate my weekend. If I wake up on Saturday and want to ride to a sci-fi convention, I go. There is no discussion, no side-eye, no guilt trip about abandoning responsibilities. The road answers to no one, and neither do I.

The bed is entirely mine. The remote control is a scepter, and I wield it with absolute power. The only dirty socks on the floor are my own, and the only schedule I keep is the one that makes me happy.

Does it get quiet?

Sure.

Are there moments I miss having Carl to turn to and say,

"Can you believe this shit?"

Absolutely.

But filling that silence with noise just to avoid it would be an insult to what we had. It would be trading a memory of true love for a mirage of companionship.

Sometimes the knight in shining armor doesn't wear a suit. Sometimes he's biker trash with a heart full of love, rough hands, and a fierce belief that the woman beside him belongs exactly there - beside him, not behind him. And sometimes he brings you stolen lilacs and a candy bar for no reason at all.

So, this Valentine's Day, if you are single - by choice, by circumstance, or by the slow, painful death of a bad relationship - find a moment to celebrate. Gather your people, the ones who truly see you. Light a candle, pour an adult beverage /light a joint, and toast to the beautiful chaos of chosen family.

Toast to the fact that you are not tethered to someone who dims your light.

Toast to all the people who help you shine brighter instead.

Toast to the friends who show up, who make you laugh until you snort, who remind you who you are.

Toast to the freedom to be yourself without apology.

I recommend remembering that

All people are NOT created equal.

Some will try to shut you up. Some will hand you the keys to your own motorcycle and trust you not to leave them in the dust; some will sit there with popcorn, watching you burn it all down, proud as hell.

I had one of the good ones. Until I find another with that same rebellious heart, who lives life the way he wants - consequences be damned - who laughs with his whole chest and loves without apology, I'll take the open road and the entire bed and call it a pretty great life.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have plans with the one person whose company I never tire of: me. I don't need anyone to buy me flowers or candy - I have my own wallet and excellent taste. I can say what I want, when I want. I can hang with whoever I please, or nobody at all. I pick the restaurant, I pick the movie, I pick the soundtrack.

Tonight, I answer to absolutely no one

This Biker Bitch Doesn’t Ride Bitch

And honestly? That might be the best Valentine's Day gift of all.