Supermarket Flowers

Disclaimer: I know nothing about relationships or love.

There's a video by Sean Whalen in which he talks about how society has wrongly defined what it means for a man to buy his woman flowers. I won't go into the specifics because ultimately, he can say it far better than I can. Basically though, he argues how wrong it is that society assumes that a man has done something wrong when he buys flowers, not that he just wants to show appreciation or love. In case you aren't familiar with it (or just want to hear it again), I've attached it below.

Please note that there is explicit language in this video.

I saw this video for the first time awhile ago, but for some reason it came to my mind today. His message speaks to me because I think he's right. Women don't want to have to be hurt first just to get flowers. Surprisingly though - rather or not men should give their women flowers - is not the point of this post.

Actually, while I definitely still appreciate them, flowers often make me rather sad. I love them at first, but then I have to sit there and watch them die. The gesture is what matters to me - the thought that someone took time out of their day and money out of their wallet to stand in front of a flower stand at their local supermarket and think "which one of these flowers is the best?"

Those flowers were chose to be sold because they were the most beautiful. Then they were picked by the buyer because they thought they were the most beautiful. So while it saddens me that they die in the end, there's a deeper meaning.

Those flowers were picked - chosen from a field or garden, then again from a refrigerated supermarket shelf - simply because they were beautiful. There were other options. Lots. But in the end, none of those other options mattered because they didn't compare. They didn't compare to the ones the man brought home to his wife.

He picked those special for her, second. He picked her, first.

If flowers were capable of emotions, I don't think they'd mind that they don't get to live and grow anymore. Why? Because they were chosen. They were plucked carefully from the ground, placed beautifully in a bouquet, and carried home to bring a smile to someone's face. If anything, they'd feel loved. Enough.

Chosen.

I know it might be a stretch, especially since flowers aren't capable of emotions at all, but it still brings comfort to me. Partially because it makes me feel okay about them dying, but most importantly, because it reminds me how I should be treated.

It reminds me of how I - and how I believe everyone should - feel with their significant other.

Like the flower, I should feel chosen. Metaphorically speaking, of course, I should feel like I was picked from a field of millions of flowers. Millions of options. Yet, somehow, I was perfect. I was enough. I was just what someone was looking for.

There's nothing particularly special about supermarket flowers, but I strive to be like them. Chosen, not just because I'm beautiful, but just because I'm me.

So maybe flowers aren't for everyone. Maybe you hate receiving them. Maybe they make you sad, too. Maybe you agree that they're only appropriate for apologies. That's okay. You don't have to want or receive flowers.

But you should demand the kind of love that never makes you doubt that you are - and always will be - chosen.