I Feel Love-12" Version

The first time I thought about writing some version of this essay was about a week and a half ago, and the second the thought entered my mind, so did fear and doubt. In unison, the two twins of the defeated whispered that I shouldn’t write about such things for public consumption. I casually consulted three people close to me and whom I respect deeply, each a writer in their own right. When I told them the essay's subject, they hastily encouraged me to go for it. I didn’t think I was asking for permission, but as I sat here writing and reflecting on why I felt the need to consult anyone, I was for sure asking if it was ok. I asked my friends for permission to write honestly, as myself—my whole self. There I was, a 44-year-old woman who felt independent and self-aware, asking permission from her friends to be herself. That is troubling, particularly at a time when our world’s political leaders are teaching that you can do whatever you want—there are no rules. Broken clocks are right twice a day; even a fool has a lesson to teach. So here I am today, attempting to bring forth a version of myself that doesn’t always get to come into view: the erotic. Here I am breaking "the rules" in hope that it frees me, while perhaps freeing you, a theology I sincerely wish our leaders would embody.

Even that introduction was a cop-out. I was trying to warm you, the audience, up to the idea that I get to be a sensual being who experiences pain and pleasure, hate and the erotic, love and lust. Perhaps you’re thinking, "Of course you do." If I were reading this, I’d be thinking the same thing. I’d be somewhere yelling aloud, "Write your truth!" And yet, here I am, still stalling. It’s infuriating to think what the world has done to keep women quiet about their needs, their desires, and their passions.

This life has provided me with a wealth of experiences, and if there’s anything that living a big, full life has taught me, it’s that big feelings require big, full expression. In this moment, we are collectively sharing– the world seems to be turning in on itself, I, too, am turning inward so that I might find the space and freedom required to explore all of my edges—even the ones we’re told to hide or, worse yet, dismiss or excommunicate from ourselves. If the world is going to challenge, unravel, and get a little weirder, so am I, but in ways that make life worth living. When it comes to writing about love, pain, and freedom, I find my pen (okay, keyboard) unflinching. But what about the other parts? The ever-increasing anger, the rage, and, of course, the sacral.

What about my pleasure zones and the places in which I think about and find pleasure? Does pleasure not have a safe home in this world?

Pleasure is essential, and it has a biological purpose. I particularly believe that women experiencing pleasure at ever-increasing levels is good for a healthy society. And, of course, that’s what everyone seems hell-bent on attacking. So before they outlaw my ecstasy, let me tell you a story.

I traveled across an ocean late last year to spend time with a dear loved one. They were celebrating a big birthday, and like all the dutiful women of my lineage, I was on call to help in any way I could. This was a five-day blowout of a time, so the first days felt more like a fun work trip than a relaxing vacation. Once the festivities started to wrap, I moved from the family home to a small apartment right off the ocean—just me.

This location holds special significance because it is one of the best places in the world for kite surfing, something I only know about. After all, I’ve visited this country a few times, but this trip was something new. You could see the kites as you drove by or if we visited that area for dinner, but to have them as my backyard view from the small balcony was a wonder. Kite surfing is really a game of wait-and-see as surfers watch for the wind to hit the perfect mark. So much of what deep pleasure is found in patience. Once it happens, the sky fills with brightly colored kites taking to the air. I sat out on the balcony and watched for hours each day, fascinated by the skill and vibrancy of it all. The beautiful kites, in all sizes, shapes, and colors, waved in the air, bouncing up against the sun, making the already breathtaking purples, rich blues, and pink skies even more stunning. On the surfers' faces, you could see both pure delight and the reward of a challenge. You could see it when they fell over, but you could also see it when they’d take to the air, being picked up by the wind like a bird. It was intense. It was joyful. It was ecstasy.

Around day three, something happened. It wasn’t the first time, but this time I took note. I was in heat, and it was palpable—it was all over me. Perhaps it was the long walks along the beach, the random conversations with people from all over the world at some random beach grill, or the time alone in a place that made me feel vibrant. I was glowing with desire, sun-kissed, relaxed, and throbbing just from the reminder of what it feels like to be at peace. Peace is, after all, a form of ecstasy.

What I was feeling was both external and internal, and it felt incredible. I understood what flying in the air on one of those free and beautiful kites must make one feel. To add to all of this, it was happening while I was alone. There’s something profound about feeling something like this when you’re by yourself—you get to explore yourself and understand what enlivens you for you. That’s not always clear when we often perform our pleasure for others.

At some point, I jokingly texted a friend, “The ocean makes me horny.” It was a ridiculous text message, and it was also true. I felt the kind of openness and energy you feel as a teen during puberty—you could use it to make out under the bleachers or run cross country. On that beach, with the ocean as my object of desire, there was an awakening of a far-too-long dormant consciousness of my need for seconds, hours, and days of euphoria. I am lustful for life, for every ounce of joy and delight that enters my way. Hiding my ecstasy, rage, love, or anger is no longer acceptable. I am bringing them out from my depths so that they may live on the surface and so that I may live more fully and more freely. I plan to be very horny for life, very loudly.

In praise of the erotic while yearning for more.