When I sat down and thought about what to write this week, I thought "Oh my gosh! It's Valentine's Day season! I should totally write about my thoughts on the holiday!" But (as you can see) the article would be published today, Monday the 15th, the morning immediately after the holiday.

But then I thought, "So what? Why do we have to write about love on Valentine's Day?"

The answer is: we don’t, but we do anyway. I think a lot of us feel like Valentine's Day or an anniversary or a random weekend in June are the only times we can celebrate our love for each other. But why do we feel as though there is only one day where we can shower our partner with candy and roses and oversized stuffed animals?

Instead of planning one special day per year with the person/people we love, why not celebrate them the day after our "special occasion?" And the day after that? And the day after that? Show the one you love how fiercely you love them every day!

Question: But how do you “fiercely” love someone?

Answer: Make a choice.

After my raging 13-year-old hormones died down and I grew into a mature adult, I realized that love wasn’t a feeling after all. It wouldn’t “just happen.” I wouldn’t “just know” when I met the right person. The fairytales that Disney always sketched for me weren’t real. Singing and dancing in the forest alone wasn’t how a man would fall in love with me. In fact, it would probably lead to strange looks and an insane asylum.

Instead, I learned that love is a choice that is made every day. You have to choose to love the brain that sometimes forgets an anniversary. You choose to love the calloused hands that stroke your hair (and the I’m-so-sorry smile as those fingers are making accidental knots). You choose to trace the constellation of freckles on the warm back lying beside you. You choose to love a flawed heart because you’re just as flawed.

So this article is a “morning after” Valentine's Day tribute to the man who loves me.

Thank you for waking up and making the decision to love. Thank you for choosing me when you don’t have to or don’t want to. Thanks for choosing my pimples, short temper, fears of the future and anxiety about the past. Thank you for bringing me broccoli cheddar soup when I’m sick and for telling me you’ll pick up rocky road ice cream when I’m having a terrible day (and for being okay with it when I fall asleep before you can arrive at my house). Thanks for the little things: the long hugs, the obnoxious laughs, kisses on the cheek as we watch The 100 on the couch. Thanks for the big things: holding my hand during a funeral, reassuring action when the world seems to fall apart and for promising to walk through life together.

Thank you for choosing me; and I hope you know I’ll never stop choosing you.