The Pursuit of Pleasure

Is a woman following her pleasure an act of social rebellion?

I used to think that being an awakened woman was the most profound form of activism. But now, having traversed some miles in these shoes, I’m coming to understand that an awakened woman fully immersed in the exploration of her own PLEASURE, is the most sacred expression of activism.

I’m not talking about the idea of pleasure that’s sold to us by capitalism.

I’m talking about slow pleasure. I’m talking about following your nose to what truly delights YOU.

For me, it’s padding through my small apartment in the morning, my naked feet on the wooden floor. I drink home-brewed coffee with warm milk from the little black and green mug I bought from the potters market. I savour the bed I’m in, my striped sheet and white duvet. I am happy.

Swimming in the sea, I am deep, smiling, feeling my body held by the liquid of the Atlantic ocean, treading water with friends, chatting. Admiring the mountains. Loving my limbs for supporting me.

Bringing home two fresh bagels and excitedly making a smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel. A squeeze of lemon, a crush of black pepper and a pinch of salt. The first bite. The second bite. The fucking pleasure of it. Cream cheese.

My body wants to rest, my mind guiltily tells me I have work to do. I’m tired. I draw my curtains. I’m safe in my cave. I slowly admire my body in the full-length mirror. I’ve earnestly been attending yoga classes, and running in the mountains with my warrior friend, in the womb of Mother Nature. I am embodied. I can give to myself and receive. Again and again. Pleasure is the spaciousness of responding to my body when arousal moves through her, in my own time. I know this is the path to deeper, more connected sexual experiences. This quiet pleasure is liberation. This is peace. This is infinity.

A summer siesta. Giving the tired river of energy in me permission to rest. Succumbing. I read a book I love while my body and breath soften. A blanket is over me. The afternoon light pours into the room.

As women, we tend to serve others. I have in the past. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t mind it either. I liked being a mama to my dog and caring for my partner. But now, I cherish that I don’t have to. And in the future, when I do, I know it will be different. It’s not going to be perfect but I’m operating from a different place. I have evolved.

I had a friend who allowed pleasure to live alongside her. In the way she savoured eating food, like REALLY loved the act of it. How she always SWAM no matter the weather. She booked herself massages to knead her tired mom body. And ate Thai food afterwards. She got her nails done. She fucking prioritised herself. Her little one's needs were never forsaken. She inspired me, and I believe she inspired her mother friends too. To prioritise their pleasure. No one will ever thank you for being a martyr. And if they do, what’s a thank you?

My pleasure feeds me.

Having had a pleasure-filled day, I feel centred and calm. I feel so fucking satisfied. I am not seeking to be filled up by another. Whatever comes after this … it can come. Perhaps I have finally found solitude.