You Still Got It (And I Just Want It Back)

I’ve never been accused of being overly romantic. No one ever described me as the guy who made hearts skip a beat or knees go weak. I wasn’t the slow-motion hallway entrance. I wasn’t the varsity quarterback with a soundtrack. I was more of a dependable background character with strong opinions and questionable dance moves. 

Valentine’s Day, if we’re being honest, can be brutal. For some, it’s roses and reservations. For others, it’s a magnifying glass held over loneliness. It can feel a lot like Christmas or New Year’s Eve when you don’t have someone to hug at midnight. The world pairs off. Restaurants glow. Social media becomes a highlight reel of candlelight and captions.

And if you’re alone? It can feel like you missed the draft. Throughout the years, I fell head over heels more times than I care to admit. And if we’re being completely transparent — most of those young ladies were out of my league. Like… varsity traveling overseas league. I knew it then. I still know it now. Which is why, if we’re telling the truth on this Valentine’s Day morning, I sometimes shake my head and think: I got lucky. Mrs. Sturgill? She was Way out of my League. 

Before that chapter… There were others. And when those relationships ended, it didn’t feel poetic. It didn’t feel like “when one door closes, another opens.” It felt like someone walked out of my life carrying a piece of my heart in their coat pocket. 

I know that sounds like a country song. That’s because it is. This post was born of one line I heard this morning from artist Brett Young: “You still got it… and I just want it back.” There’s something about that lyric that hits different once you’ve lived a little.

Because here’s the question no Hallmark card answers: When someone walks away with a piece of your heart… do you ever get it back, or do you just learn to live slightly asymmetrical?

We tell young people, “You’ll move on.” We tell friends, “There are plenty of fish in the sea.” We tell ourselves, “Time heals all wounds.” But does it restore the missing pieces, or does the heart do something stranger? Maybe it grows new tissue around the empty space. Like a lizard losing its tail — the body adapts. It regenerates. The new tail isn’t the same, but it works. It balances. It carries on.

Maybe the heart does that. Maybe it doesn’t get the old piece back. Maybe it grows wiser muscle instead. Scar tissue isn’t weakness; it’s reinforcement.

Valentine’s Day anxiety isn’t just about being single. It’s about memory. It’s about the what-ifs. The almosts. The ones who were never ours to begin with. It’s about that moment you realize love doesn’t always return what it borrowed.

Maybe there is a quiet grace in all of it, every time someone walked away with a piece of my heart…I didn’t end up with less. I ended up different.  A little humbler. A little sharper.  A little more aware that love isn’t earned by league placement.

And somehow the heart keeps beating. Stronger, even. If you’re alone this Valentine’s Day, here’s what I’ll say:

You are not behind. You are not undrafted. You are not incomplete. You are simply mid-chapter.

And if your heart feels like it’s missing pieces, don’t panic. It knows how to rebuild. It always has. And sometimes you wake up one day next to someone who makes you whisper, “I have no idea how I pulled this off.”

Happy Valentine’s Day.