'What you resist persists!' Has Carl Jung's famous statement ever haunted you? It certainly teases me, at the very least. With Valentine's Day at the horizon and commercial display and endless talk about love at every turn this past week, I decided that I would not succumb to the masses. I would not write about this subject, and that was final. 

Yet, my own conflicted attitude to Valentine's Day wouldn't let me off the hook, regardless of how hard I tried. The harder I tried, the more all of my writing veered into the subject of love in some fashion. What you resist persists, indeed!

Last night, I finally decided to sit and open myself up to the message of Valentine's. My eyes caught a tiny wooden box with a ladybug inside. I had gifted Paul, my deceased husband, many years ago with this ladybug of love. Paul, a Brit with a stiff upper lip, only occasionally displayed his sentimental or romantic side. Imagine my surprise when I cleaned out his office and found the oval box on a shelf, along with other mementos. Apparently, Paul had developed connections with me through my gifts that had remained obscured to me. Perhaps this ladybug could reveal insights into my strong reactions to Valentine's Day.

Almost immediately, an internal revue of my feelings over the last decades passed by, which ranged from indifference, disappointment, loneliness, sadness and anger to joy, ecstasy, happiness, romance, fantasy and deep love, just to name the most prominent ones. What a spread of emotional expressions to the same day!

That's when the title for today's entry, 'The Wonders of Relationship,' was born. A focus on the 'wonders of relationship' emphasizes not the circumstances that surround this day. Instead, the relationship to myself and, by extension the world around me, primarily account for and illuminate my varied perceptions and experiences. Let me explain further.

The word 'relate' comes from the Latin and means to 'retell or account.' What's the retelling that is happening, you might ask.  Well, it might be the retelling of events according to my own story of the moment.  I may receive similar attention this year as I did last year, perhaps beautiful flowers, a dinner invitation or a meaningful card. And yet, instead of being excited the way I was in the past, I might feel flat, almost disappointed.

What do you suspect explains this reaction? What's the variable? It might be my own internal 'retelling' of the events and the experience.  What differs in my relationship to myself and to my environment?  Am I content and joyous or unhappy and uneasy about life and myself?  What expectations do I have of my partner or loved ones around me on this day?  What unexpressed story is shaping my perceptions, my accounting of the events?

I feel compelled to share with you what transpired on the first Valentine's Day after Paul's death as a powerful example of the 'wonders of relationship.' Six months had passed since Paul's sudden and unexpected death, and I was still in the throngs of grief and pain. I couldn't stand hearing or seeing anything that had to do with romantic love and happy togetherness, as I labelled it then. Of course, the high school where I was teaching at that point, made a big deal about Valentine's. After all, high schools brim over with hormonally charged teenagers for whom romance, love and relationship preoccupy much of their personal agenda.

The days leading up to Valentine's made me nauseous. How could I be happy for others when I felt so alone and so lonely. How could I be happy when I knew Paul was gone and we would never celebrate again, neither Valentine's nor any other day. How could I be happy when I did not even have a clue any more who I was? I am just excerpting a few of the thoughts that captivated my consciousness in those days. I am sure you get the picture. Obviously, I related in a deeply disturbed way to myself as well as to the world around me.

On my way to school that Valentine's, I already regretted not having taken the day off to avoid further reminders. However, it was now too late. Reluctantly, I started my day. A large grade 12 French class was waiting for me first period. I did my best to stay on the task of teaching my lesson, just hoping to get through it somehow.

Suddenly, a knock at my classroom door, and in marched two students, ready to distribute the Valentine's gifts that had been ordered as fundraisers for the school. I turned to my desk to keep myself busy when I heard: "C'est pour vous, Madame Steiger."

I looked up. Alex, a student from my class, handed me a bouquet of red roses. Rosie gave me a card. The students spontaneously formed a circle around me. Every student had not only signed the card but added a few personal words I could hardly make out through the tears that were trickling down my face. I was completely stunned and speechless.

Not one of these 17-year-old students, male and female alike, appeared uncomfortable or impatient while waiting for me to recompose myself. When I could finally breathe and speak again, I thanked them for their gift but also told them I was thoroughly confused. Why would they present me, their teacher, with roses on Valentine's Day? Especially when I could certainly not provide them with the quality of teaching they were used to from the past, due to my lack of energy and enthusiasm among other reasons.

Their answer astounded me. They wanted to express their love and appreciation for my honest and sincere relationship with them. I showed them, they articulated, deep respect by simply being me, by not pretending life was fine when it clearly was not.

I realized then, but much more so since then, that these students felt connected in a way that went much deeper than any content I could have ever taught them or ever did teach them. Despite that realization, I could not fully take in the love they showed me, not for a long time. My head understood, but my heart was not quite ready to absorb the immensity of their affection. Regardless, these students  caused me to wonder at the power of all of our relationships. My external circumstances in life had not changed. And yet, through the expression of unconditional love by my students, I understood  the powerful wonders of relationship at work. The only change originated in my perception of myself, the way I related to myself.

My deep and sincere gratitude and appreciation goes out to all my students, particularly of that year. You taught me so very much.

Today, eight years later, with my head and heart connecting, I breathe in fully the wonders of relationship these students demonstrated to me. Apparently they connected with me well below the surface of my actions and behaviours. They related to the essence of my being, which I could not even grasp at all then. Their gift to me extended and continues to extend far beyond the roses and the card I received.

When I observe my communities and environment, from my cats to the strangers I meet on the street, from my friends to my clients, I realize that everyone  expresses diverse ways of relating to the world within and around them–their environment (which includes partners, friends, playmates, and families), their bodies, their minds, their own emotions and /or Spirit. Of course, this relationship may display itself in seemingly positive or negative, healthy or unhealthy ways.  Or, as some might argue, this relationship may not look like a relationship at all because meaningful interactions may be absent altogether.

Humans–just like so many other species in this universe–are, after all, social beings who depend on others right throughout our lives and live in some form of community, even if indirectly and unwillingly. Even our very existence derives from the actions of our parents and how they related to each other. Generally we reap the benefits from the actions of others, be it in form of food, clothes or shelter, or from nurturing connections with others around us. For survival, we require the support of many others, as the situation in Haiti continues to demonstrate to us so very clearly. Is it then surprising that much of our happiness and contentment apparently derives from the very fabric of our relationship with others around us?
"Relationships are all there is," Margaret Wheatley writes in Never Eat Alone. "Everything in the universe only exists because it is in relationship to everything else. Nothing exists in isolation. We have to stop pretending we are individuals that can go it alone."  This amazing community leader articulates a core issue of our times, perhaps even the most important one.

May this Valentine's Day serve us as the perfect opportunity to remind ourselves of the intimate relationships that dominate our lives on all levels. May we marvel and work with the wonders of relationship!