I HAVE NO PLANS FOR VALENTINE’S DAY AND NEITHER DOES JAMES RENOVITCH
I also don’t have a Rainer Maria Rilke tattoo. But Lady Gaga does. It reads: “In the deepest hour of the night, confess to yourself that you would die if you were forbidden to write. And look deep into your heart where it spreads its roots, the answer, and ask yourself, must I write?” That’s all well and good, and as much of a career “creative class”-type as I consider myself to be, I must admit, there are some deep hours of the night when I could swaddle my writing avocation in a sad little blanket and leave it in a basket on the doorstep of some young enthusiast who could make better use of it. Some days it feels like I could turn and walk away and never look back. Closer to home, my favorite Rilke quote is: “For one human being to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.” In the rosy haze of the days leading up to this Sunday’s Feast of St. Valentine, these are fine words to mull. Every Valentine’s Day I spend alone is an opportunity to prepare – a nest feathering, if you will – for that last test and proof.
This article appears in February 12 • 2010.