I am mostly here to enjoy myself (in the words of Glynnis MacNicol)

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I’ll be honest, this article feels difficult to write - uncomfortable to reveal, challenging to let anyone see. I notice the tension that arises within me. “Am I allowed to have these opinions?” Sure, Glynnis is allowed, but am I allowed to be as bold?

So here I am, outing myself from the very beginning and letting you in on my little secret: I am mostly here to enjoy my life and it makes me uncomfortable to admit.

I found Glynnis MacNicol’s book I’m Mostly Here to Enjoy Myself delightful. I loved her strong, bold, unapologetic voice. Her weaving of feminist thoughts and pandemic life while meandering the streets of Paris was enticing. I lost myself in the pages of her story and rode alongside her on her bicycle across the streets of Paris, where I too have walked and allowed myself to soak up the city. The something that Paris holds for me. Her stories resonated deeply with my experience of being a middle aged woman, looking for more enjoyment and pleasure in life.

Ironically, I was also in Paris at the same time she was there, in August 2021. During the lockdown, my husband and I were desperate for travel and vacation. All of our trips, one by one, were being cancelled. We were dreaming of the kind of adventure that we had grown accustomed to and can never get enough of. Randomly on Mother’s day, I was searching for possible trips to take when I stumbled on to the cheapest plane tickets to Europe I had ever seen. Impulsively we purchased them because how could we not. We were yearning for a change of scenery. We told ourselves that we would figure out the logistics later.

As MacNicol explored the world again after the isolation of lockdown, we too were looking to enjoy more of life and to do it in Paris. Once we were there, we sat in the Tuileries garden and had glasses (or maybe it was a bottle) of rosé. We celebrated my husband’s 50th birthday a year late, a do-over celebration. We wandered the mostly empty streets, stopping in little shops, and felt the joy of engaging with other humans again, even behind our masks. We visited the Musée d’Orsay and relished how the lack of crowds allowed us to linger over the art. We drooled at the window of Le Meurice, watching Cédric Grolet’s protégés make his confections. We went on a group food tour (Paris by Mouth) and explored deliciousness along the 6th. We sat in sidewalk cafes and indulged in cheese. We walked along the bridges of the Seine at sunset. We soaked up all the pleasure and savored Paris, moving slowly, leaning into the flâneur way.

Pleasure, couched within the parameters of a vacation, seems permissible, yet when we think of pleasure in everyday life, it crosses into a questionable zone. Sure, we can be indulgent and enjoy ourselves on vacation, but what about when the trip is over? Are we allowed to keep seeking enjoyment?

“How do I intend to enjoy myself? What does enjoyment mean? What does it mean for me? Not just temporary enjoyment, like a massage. But as a thesis. How does one give themselves over to pleasure? How does a woman do so? It feels nearly impossible to separate myself from the pervasive voice of how women should be.”

Here is a woman saying that life is allowed to be delicious and delightful. That she is allowed (and we the readers by extension), to put aside obligation and duty for a moment, and give herself over to pleasure. I can’t help but ask myself, “What does a thesis on pleasure look like?”  Do you know, dear reader, what a thesis of pleasure looks like for yourself?

As the eldest daughter, the first born, I was birthed into responsibility. Over-responsibility actually. I have spent a lifetime of devotion. To God and faith. To family and the role assigned me at birth. To education and a career that I thought was a calling. To hard work. In all these roles, pleasure was not a prerequisite. I definitely was not enjoying myself. Which is why daring to throw off the chains of duty feels rebellious and liberating. I am ready to live life on my own terms now, not the terms that were set for me at birth.

What if there’s more to life than what we’ve been led to believe? What if all that duty is misguided? What if we followed and pursued what makes us happy, where the magic is, and gave no apologies? Especially in a society where we are seeking the best salary, the nicest house, the next promotion, climbing some imaginary ladder. What happened to the enjoyment of living? Instead living feels like a burdensome task. The to do list never shrinking. Never getting caught up. Always feeling that there’s more to do, more to achieve.

MacNicol’s words seem like a midlife manifesto of sorts. Also a great mantra for the creative life. What if we invite what feels good? What if we focused on enjoying ourselves? What if the good could flow from there? Maybe we can simply be open to it.

A couple years ago I set out to write a memoir.  My writing life began as an hour here or there, a couple times a week. Time that I scheduled on the calendar and had to pep-talk myself to show up too. When I first began the writing, it was challenging. Events from my childhood that I thought I had healed from felt different in black and white on the page. I felt tortured by the writing life, like some ridiculous cliché. Fear and perfectionism danced across my psyche every day.

In those earliest days I set out to be a good student. To learn it all. Show up and work hard. And yet in doing so, my endeavors chased the joy away. Snuffed it all out. I had made writing “a job.” The hard-work mentality that I brought was stifling. I was worried how I could tell the truth, what would people think, if my writing would be good enough. This killed the enjoyment and squashed all the pleasure. As Elissa Altman writes, “Fear and shame will conspire to quash your creativity at every step, and they will, if we allow them to.”

Now, the writing life has taken over most of my days. With prompting from Caroline Donahue and her writing community, I am leaning in to what feels fun and easy. I am taking myself less seriously (or trying to). I have released the concerns of whether my writing is good, whether it can support my career, whether anyone will like it. I am focusing on what feels good and how to enjoy myself. And the joy grows organically on its own. As if multiplying. This enjoyment has led me to other delights (such as my re-discovered obsession with stickers), and in the process it has allowed me to throw off the concerns of who’s looking.

Maybe this is self-indulgent? Maybe. But who’s going to stop me? I have spent a lifetime being responsible. Showing up on time. Holding it all together. Not letting things fall through the cracks. Now I want to play. I want to enjoy myself. I want life to be a treat (as much as possible).

For most of us, life ends all too quickly. We don’t get to the things we wanted and time runs out. So in the meantime, in the liminal space of living, I’m here for it. To feel alive. To have my life consumed with what I love. To be full of joy in a world that wants to make your joy measured.

I’m here to chase the magic. To seek out what lights me up, over and over. I will continue following the enjoyment where it leads. I encourage you to do the same.

What do you enjoy? What lights you up? Where is your magic? What feels self-indulgent but necessary?

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