In the days of my youth, the beginning of February signaled an anxious countdown to the dreaded 14th day of the month, hoping and praying that my 16-year-old situationship would miraculously perform an act of romance that made Valentine’s Day a day worth living for. To no one’s surprise—least of all my own—he never did. But in the years since then, I’ve learned to appreciate Valentine’s Day for what it should be: a little surge of joy amidst the bleakness of a cold, gray winter.