At work today, one of the guys working in the warehouse did a very sweet thing. He brought pink carnations for all of the women in the company. There was no flourish, no explanation, just a smile and a simple presentation of the thoughtful gift. It brightened every woman’s day, whether she already had a valentine or not.

One woman asked, “Who is this from?”

He answered simply, “From a secret admirer.” And I guess from his point of view, that was all she needed to know. Whether or not it was true was beside the point.

The secret admirer is an enigmatic sort; his very nature boggles my mind. It seems as though he exists merely to love and not necessarily to be loved in return. Meanwhile, the object of his affection goes about life not knowing that he or his admiration of her exists. She could possibly, regularly feel lousy, unloved, beautiful to no one, and of little consequence to anyone at all. If he truly loved her, he would find some way to reassure her and to let her know that someone out there appreciates who she is…

…and so he does, anonymously.

I could never figure out the anonymously part of it. I suppose there could be any number of reasons behind it: fear of rejection, fear of ridicule, fear of losing the perfection of an unrequited love. Who knows what other secrets the heart of a secret admirer holds?

But I think every lonely soul should know if they have a secret admirer, even if they never find out who that secret admirer is. Just knowing is like a ray of sunshine, reassuring and warm, as though someone is saying, “I know you’re out there, and I love you as you are.”

How do I know this? I’ve had a secret admirer or two of my own, that’s how, and it’s only done me good.

High school was lonely for me, my self-esteem at an all-time low. I secretly admired boys who never even knew I existed, and I had never ever been on a date. One day, during a week in Oahu on some class trip, I was pulled aside by the nice Hawaiian guys who worked at the reception desk of the Laniloa Lodge, and they presented me with a single red rose and a white short-sleeved collared cotton shirt, the words “Kahuku Staff” emblazoned in red over the heart.

The gift was from a secret admirer, they told me, but they wouldn’t reveal who that person was. It didn’t matter anyway; just knowing that someone out there thought I was special was enough to lighten my heart. Feeling cherished, I in turn cherished the gifts given to me and spent the rest of that trip with a wistful smile on my face. To this day, I still have that shirt in my possession, and I would even have the rose, pressed and dried in a scrapbook somewhere, if I’d known how to do that properly.

I sometimes wonder if my secret admirer ever knew how much I appreciated that gesture or how much it meant to me. Or, if he didn’t actually exist, I wonder if the guys at Laniloa Lodge ever grasped the effect of their generosity. I mean,… how do you thank someone who keeps his identity a secret? How do you tell him how much you appreciate the simple beauty of selfless, undemanding love that he added to your life?

How, indeed.

So… to all the secret admirers out there, on behalf of those you secretly admire, thank you.

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