Bear with me as I start things off by discussing a book on literary form. Every part of me that has worked to shed any appearance of pretension- a product of being a needlessly serious and awkward child- is resisting, I assure you. But in my defense, the book is called The Erotics of Restraint, and if that isn't the horniest book title you've ever heard of, I don't know what to tell you. The horniness was obviously part of its appeal to me.
Anyway, there's a piece of the book where the author, Douglas Glover (I guess sexy book titles need to be mitigated by decidedly un-sexy author names), talks about thematic passages, where a character or narrator essentially starts to soliloquize a bit about the meaning of life, or love, or one of those other universal human tasks. Glover explains that a thematic passage is one that "transcends local conditions and achieves universality or myth" (page 59, if you're interested). I wouldn't quote from the book if I didn't find the language so satisfying. Anyway, he references a thematic passage from one short story and explains that the character uses it to describe his theory of life, or at least what he's come to so far. The theory is dark, though. The protagonist imagines that everyone has a kind of black hole of despair inside them, whose perimeter they dance around their entire lives. As someone who actively resists cynicism in all its forms, this thesis does not appeal to me. But it made me think about my own thematic passage ideas, specifically one that's been stewing since I started living alone. It is not at all like the black hole theory. It is, essentially: we should all just do things that make us a little bit horny.
Again, bear with me!! I'm saying "horny" a lot because I'm a gross 22 year old but I swear there's more to it than that. It's not about being constantly sex-crazed or pursuing sex- actually, it's not about sex at all. I think the idea sparked one night in July when I decided to make use of an abnormally cool evening and have dinner out on my porch. I made lemon pasta, romantically mimicking Joanne Palmaro from this Vogue video, and a little salad of cucumber and pear. I even tied a silk bandana around myself as a crop top, which made me feel extra stylish, and took great pleasure in feeling my hair drape over my bare shoulders. I sat in the warm breeze and had my summery dinner and revelled in how sexy and in-my-body I felt. Because, honestly, what is more sensual than simple pleasures? And, beyond that, what is more empowering than being able to provide those simple pleasures for yourself? That's what it feels like to be able to feed myself delicious food, or make my bed with soft sheets, or take myself on a walk and enjoy the perfect, warm air of Central Texas.
Since then, my theory has evolved, expanding to include life decisions and career arcs- in moments of clarity and focus, I find myself asking, "how can I be the hottest version of myself?" Here, hotness transcends the physical to become something encompassing, even universal- Paris Hilton, the uncontested pioneer of hotness theory, paved the way for this. Rather than obsessing over working towards the perfect body- objective "hotness"- I find myself workshopping lives I might live and subjecting them to the abstract hotness test. Does getting a PhD in London elicit a "that's hot" from my heart and brain? Then it's something worth pursuing. Retreating to a weird little town and converting an old church into a bed and breakfast? For sure. Plus, per my last post, I get to decorate it with fun details. In the London example, this often involves meeting a cute guy in a bookstore or pulling quotes for my thesis in a dark pub somewhere.
All this to say, a lot more of my life lately has come to be defined by my own conceptions of sensuality and hotness than I really expected. But it's driving this larger narrative of getting to know myself, and what I like, and how best to take care of not only my basic needs but my cute little spirit, too. The language of sensuality or, bluntly, horniness, works because it conveys that familiar feeling which most often appears during (good) sex: the simple and joyous thought, "yes, this is exactly what I want."
There are a lot of cringey op-eds out there about falling in love with yourself, or about being your own best friend, and I only recently stopped thinking that all of it was bullshit. Don't get me wrong, I still resent gooey clichés as much as the next alive and conscious woman, but, slowly, I have found a deeper relationship with myself taking shape. Cliché that it is, the "falling in love with yourself" analogy works because it happens in the same way that falling in love with someone else does- it opens you up piece by piece and shows you how deep your own feelings can actually be, and it is almost always unexpected.
Now, I find such pleasure in cooking good meals for myself, or lighting candles and curling up with hot chocolate and a movie on Friday nights. And it doesn't always work. It's this strange process of trial and error, learning slowly and often by surprise what actually works to make myself feel good, or relaxed, or just slightly less anxious and existentially panicked. Yet, somehow, it feels exciting to live in a quiet little laboratory of pleasure, experimenting with the simple and worthy goal of taking care of myself as best as I can.
—Helen
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