Valentine’s Day Was Yesterday, and I Spent It Watching 14-Year-Olds Play Basketball

I have never had a valentine and I have been single for 24 years (not even clickbait) (seriously)

Another Valentine’s Day has come and gone. The overpriced bouquets have wilted, the heart-shaped chocolates are on clearance, and I have successfully survived another year of people Instagramming their one true love (who they will, statistically, be soft-launching a breakup from by June).

So, how did I spend the most romantic day of the year? At a middle school basketball game. Watching 14-year-olds miss free throws.

To be clear, I wasn’t randomly attending a children’s sporting event. My younger cousin had a game, and since I had no romantic obligations (because, spoiler: I have never had a boyfriend in my entire 24 years of existence), I figured why not? Love comes in many forms, right?

The gym smelled like stale popcorn and Axe body spray. The scoreboard flickered. The ref, who looked about one bad call away from quitting his entire career, blew his whistle as a kid named Landon traveled for the sixth time that quarter. The parents in the stands were taking this game way too seriously, screaming things like, “BOX OUT!” and “THAT WAS A FOUL, REF!” as if literal NBA scouts were sitting courtside.

Meanwhile, I sat there, sipping a questionable concession stand lemonade, thinking: Wow. Another year. Still single.

At 24, I am at the intersection of young enough to be idealistic about love and old enough to start wondering if I somehow missed the boat. I tell myself I don’t care. I tell myself love will happen when it happens. I tell myself I am fine, more than fine, because I have friends, passions, a life that is full in so many ways.

But some nights, in the quiet, I can hear the other side of my brain whispering, But isn’t it supposed to happen by now?

The loneliness sneaks up on you. Not in big, dramatic ways. No violins, no cinematic monologues. Just in the tiny moments. In the extra chair at dinner. In the “+1” on a wedding invite. In the fact that I have never had anyone text me “Happy Valentine’s Day ❤️” in a way that wasn’t ironic or from my mom.

I have spent years telling myself that I am complete on my own. That love, if it comes, will just be an addition, not the missing puzzle piece. And yet, watching those 14-year-olds run up and down the court, screaming each other’s names, high-fiving, caring so much about something as inconsequential as a middle school basketball game, I envied them. Not for their talent (because, honestly, there was none), but for the way they had something bigger than themselves to throw their hearts into.

Because that’s what I think I want. Not just a relationship, but something to belong to. A love that feels like being part of a team, where the stakes feel high even when they aren’t. Where someone sees me, calls my name, and cares whether I make the shot.

Maybe next Valentine’s Day, I’ll be in love. Or maybe I’ll be right back in this gym, watching Landon travel down the court for the eighth time. Either way, I’ll be just fine.

And at least the concession stand lemonade was only two dollars.