I know, I know it is so cliché to hate Valentine’s Day. But this has nothing to do with the faux holiday that I truly do not care much about. This year it was day I officially moved into my own apartment. Last year I was on a business trip for a conference in Paris. The most romantic city in the world and it also happened to be Valentine’s Day the week I was there. I had an incredible hotel room with the most beautiful view of the Eiffel Tower and I was very much in love. Things weren’t perfect, but Paris can fix about anything temporarily. This year, I woke up in Los Angeles alone. I then went to have a coffee and proceed to finish packing up what things I had left in my old apartment and move into my new place all aloneness. It was a very stark contrast from last year to say the least. I didn’t walk into a room filled with rose petals and tea, instead I plugged in an air mattress and filled an empty apartment with way too many clothes. I did not get dressed up and have a beautiful dinner, I did drink a few too many cocktails and did my best to not think about how I would go home and sleep by myself. Yes, I will be totally fine and this is the right thing for me at this point in my life. I am smart, I am funny, I tell myself constantly that I am a decent singer, I will be fine. I am fine. But there is no better day to truly feel like you are going to end up alone and with 12 cats in Topanga Canyon in some strange cliff side bungalow than this stupid day. Valentine’s Day 2015, you sucked hard. But I thank you for the struggle, I have always been good at being broken down and rebuilding myself completely. I guess I should also thank the Russian coaching from my childhood. I am ready to take on this next chapter. New home, same job, more traveling, and much more writing. Oh yes, much more writing. Maybe one of these days I will pickup on the whole grammar situation as well. Thank you Saint Valentine, thank you former Russian coaches, and thank you failed relationship.