Yesterday felt like any other day—quiet, unremarkable. Valentine’s Day had arrived, but I barely noticed it. For years, the holiday has left a lingering bad taste in my mouth, tied to some notably difficult memories.

But this year—for the first time in nine years—I had one of the best Valentine’s Days. A night so full and meaningful that it erased all the ones that came before it and set the standard for those yet to come.

Not because anyone did anything grand. Not because the love of my life showed up at my door with flowers and chocolate.

My cup was simply filled—overflowing, actually.

It was one of those restorative nights with two friends: a couple who adore each other. A relationship defined by the small, invisible gestures that show deep care. One where he notices his wife starting to tear up, quietly puts his hand on her thigh, and looks at her intently as if to say, I’m here. The kind who protect each other’s peace and happiness. I tend to notice gestures like that; maybe because I crave those tiny acts of genuine love myself.

But last night wasn’t about romance.

This friendship has always been destined to grow deep. From the moment I met her, I knew she was a feeler—unafraid to wear her heart on her sleeve, someone who would challenge me and leave me feeling convicted if I wasn’t fully honest with myself and with her. I love and appreciate her for it: for reflecting the parts of me I need to work on without ever saying a word. Her husband is just as kind and thoughtful—a quiet, steady example of the kind of love worth seeking.

We went bowling. Then we ended up at a little Mexican restaurant—me on one side of the booth, them on the other—talking for hours.

I live for conversations that nourish the soul. The older I get, the less willing I am to engage in small talk with those close enough to drop the masks. I’d rather sit in silence than take part in discussions that lack depth or honesty.

This conversation, however, had both in abundance.

We laughed. We teared up. We went deep. Completely sober, completely present. We shared our perspectives with curiosity, exploring why we see the world the way we do. Our beliefs aligned. Our energy aligned. My thoughts, my way of connecting ideas, felt encouraged instead of dismissed. There was no judgment, no tension, no forced laughter—just authenticity. Pure human connection. Love.

It was a night where you get home, sit in your driveway for a minute, and think, Wow…that was special, smiling to yourself.

It’s conversations like those that make me so grateful for the people in my life—my cultivated tribe—who aren’t afraid to think, to question, to feel. I treasure those who venture into each other’s inner worlds.

Lately, I’ve noticed my circle starting to feel really whole. Some old connections are finding their way back, the shallow ones are falling away naturally, and the relationships that remain are growing stronger. I think that’s what this season of my life is really about.

I’m learning to nurture those relationships—to help them grow and thrive. I may not have a green thumb for plants, but I’m slowly becoming a gardener of friendships. This Valentine’s Day taught me an important lesson: the flowers that last aren’t the ones we buy. Those sit in a vase for a day or two, their stems cut short, beautiful but fleeting. The flowers that endure are the ones we cultivate ourselves—planted deeply, watered with care, tended with respect, and nurtured with attention. They blossom year after year, growing stronger with time. Those are the relationships that matter. Those are the Valentine’s flowers worth celebrating.

Growing up, encouragement to form friendships didn’t exist in my home. I was told friends come and go, but family sticks together. Now, little by little, I’m rewriting that broken record that played on repeat in my mind for years.

I wish everyone could experience what a night like that feels like—what true nourishment for the soul really is. I believe that kind of connection could, in its own way, help heal the world.

If Valentine’s Day is a day devoted to love, then that’s the kind of love I want to celebrate every day: the love that is nurtured, steady, and enduring.

With real love,

–The Nonconformist