I spent last Valentines Day in a desert.
Not some figurative, barren wilderness void of love. I mean, like, a literal desert: Death Valley National Park.
Unrelated to any holiday, I chose a weekend in February to go camping, and girl friend after girl friend turned down my invitation because she was too busy trying to become Somebody’s Girlfriend. Valentines Day 2020 seemed to be a bigger deal than any Valentines Day had been before, and I was surprised at how all of a sudden, friends who’d been asking me to take them on adventures were turning down camping plans for random boys. What do you mean you’d rather spend two hours with a cute near-stranger who might be your future husband than sleep on hard dirt with no showers for two nights?
I, on the other hand, was single. And I wasn’t going to stick around at home waiting for my roommates to come back from their romantic escapades. So my friends Rachel and Pilli loaded up the car with firewood, food and– most importantly– water, and on Valentines Day 2020, we spent four hours driving up into Death Valley National Park.
Despite arriving after dark and with no reservation, we were thankfully able to get ahold of a camp site. I guess a seemingly barren park whose name conveys low points and dying isn’t the first place that comes to mind when brainstorming romantic locations for Cupid’s holiday.
Valentines night was cold. We put our feet close to the campfire and wore jackets; we made it work.
But the next morning, I woke up and went on a 10 mile run through the most perfect weather I can remember. It was sunny and about sixty-five degrees. I took in the open view, feeling so free despite being constrained to the miles-straight road.
The girls picked me up from my run, and after I got cleaned up (there were showers after all!), we explored a slot canyon, drove with the windows down, and took in the sights of this weird extraterrestrial terrain. There were signs about how the heat in the park is lethal during summer months, which was believable seeing as there was hardly a plant in sight– but for us, right then, the weather wasn’t extreme at all.
The highlight of my day was that evening, when we went to Badwater Basin, the lowest point in North America.
Although we’d worn jackets to sleep the night before, this February evening we walked across the vast salt flats of the Basin in shorts and t-shirts. I’d guess it was about 75 degrees, thanks to the drop in elevation. We strolled for several minutes through a terrain that seemed never to change because it was so open. Yet when we turned around, the parking lot was blurry and small. We looked at the mountain behind it, and noticed faint letters written into it. “What does it say?” Pilli asked. I spoke automatically, unthinkingly, based solely on assumption. “It says Badwater,” I said, like it was a given.
Rachel squinted and said, “Hold on… No. That says SEA LEVEL!”
I laughed. I believed her, but it was just so counterintuitive that my body had no other way to process the confusion. So I laughed.
Here, in this vast, white salt flat, I was looking up at a mountain, and hundreds of feet high on the hill was a sign that read Sea Level. It was so ridiculous to me. It didn’t make sense. Yet it was true.
The sky set like a movie: Bright pink clouds against a blue backdrop over the somehow snowy mountains in the distance. We did cartwheels and jumped and took pictures, and I couldn’t stop smiling at the ridiculous irony of it all. Here we were, 282 feet below sea level, and I felt like I was on top of the world. It was Valentines Day weekend, and I was single, and standing in a dry desert– and yet my heart was so full. It didn’t make sense. But it was true.
This trip, especially the sunset in Badwater Basin, is one of my favorite memories from college. In my mind, that trip is entitled “The Epitome of Living.” You don’t need romance to be happy. You don’t need a Valentines date to be in love. You can fall in love with hills, with clouds, with your friends’ faces as they smile against the sunlight, with the joy of breathing in fresh air and going to a place you’d never been.
The desert is only barren if you’re looking for water. But the desert has so much more to offer. And water is something you can bring yourself, not something you have to find out there.
You will be miserable in college if your sole focus is finding romantic love. Ladies, there is so much more for you to find in this time than a new last name. And love is already here, if you’re willing to accept that it doesn’t have to come in the form of a boyfriend.
But live your life like it’s an adventure, and even the desert parts will be beautiful. If you learn to appreciate sand, every step will be a gift. If you love the road, you won’t resent that it’s unchanging and straight; you’ll thank it for taking you where you need to go.
And maybe there’s a boy for you around the eventual turn into the hills; and maybe there’s not. And either way is good.
There’s nothing wrong with going on a date on Valentines Day. But if you don’t have one, that’s good too. You are complete; you are whole. You are loved still, by family, by friends, by the Lord. There is happiness and contentment, here. Now. Some nights here and there may seem windy and cold, yet you will find warmth in the most unexpected places, even in what you might have once thought of as a low point.
That night, the three of us friends set down a blanket in the parking lot and sipped tea and looked at the stars. I wouldn’t have traded that evening with my friends for any Valentines date in the city.
Friends are enough. Singleness is enough. You are enough. Love may come; but love is already here. Don't miss what you have because you're looking for something else.
The More the Marianer 