It's Been a Pleasure, Noni Blake

by Claire Christian

“I think aging is actually just about getting used to yourself, you know? Getting used to the way you are, the way you work, the way you process things, the weird things that make you unique. I think we spend so much time early on figuring that out.” He stops for a moment. “Or fighting against it.”

The voice isn’t new. It’s always been

there. I think I’ve just finally started listening to it. I don’t regret anything that has happened in my life, except maybe that I was a shitty listener. And I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened, what choices I would’ve made, what heartache I would’ve avoided, what things I would’ve said if I’d just listened.

It’s so fucked up that it takes a tragedy to make us act—to put what is most important into perspective. But do you know what’s shittier? That eventually monotony settles on top of the grief and you get consumed by routine and bills and all the unimportant details until that new drive you felt gets pushed down deep. It’s present, but it never feels as urgent as in the immediate moment after the tragedy. You forget about the way you wanted to live your life, you push aside your good intent.

This is one of the best things I learned in therapy—that when you catch yourself in an anxiety spiral, or negative spin, you need to recognize the thoughts that are false, or self-sabotaging bullshit, and reprimand them.

Humans are so habitual. We like routine,” Lil says. “And then we get stuck. And we don’t like to interrogate our habits, or do anything that feels uncomfortable. But that’s where the good stuff is, in our discomfort.”

I realize I’ve been using other people as my biggest pleasure center my whole life. To validate me. And I’ve been letting their acceptance or rejection of me dictate my value.

Everything I do is dictated by my relationships with other people, and I mostly like that about myself. I’m a good daughter, friend, neighbor, teacher, even colleague—I mean, I always take the time to refill the water cooler when it’s nearing empty. But there’s one relationship I’ve neglected my whole life: my relationship with myself.

“I’m a shit partner,” I say out loud to myself. I would never tolerate the things I say to myself if someone else was saying them. I disregard my feelings. I don’t value my desires. I don’t nurture myself. I’m mean. Holy shit. Pleasure isn’t a person. It’s personal. And I need to work out what it looks like to me.

The Pleasure Quest begins officially the next morning with a chocolate croissant. I eat it and I don’t feel guilty. I savor every goddamned mouthful. I don’t eat it because it’s a special occasion, or as a treat. I eat it because I saw it on the buffet table, and it smelled amazing, and I wanted it.

“I don’t think we can compare shit. We all go through it. One person’s trauma doesn’t negate someone else’s feelings. They’re still legitimate. I just wish we’d all stop being so hard on ourselves all the time. And I mean, all the fucking time,” Lil

says.

wish there was a word to describe this thing that happens when you meet someone new. The way they look at you through a new lens and notice things about you that you didn’t even realize about yourself. The delivery of this information is like these little explosions of recognition. Feeling seen and surprised all at once.