Occasionally I remember elbowing my way onto a ferry on the Amalfi Coast, sweating and holding on to my hat with every Italian on holiday in August. Which was every Italian.
John and I were traveling from Positano to Praiano that day, down the coastline and halfway to Amalfi. We’d spent the morning weaving through crowded streets in a city that looks like a postcard; we ate, shopped, and swam. The beach was packed in Positano, sunbathers lined up body to body on the sand. The water felt as magical as it looked.
When we crammed ourselves onto the boat, my hair was still wet from a plunge. Everyone wanted to be on the deck, so the cabin was empty. But the deck had everything you could want: fresh air, views of the glittering coast, a cooling mist made as the boat cut through water. We crowded as many people on the deck as the crew would allow.
The boat wasn’t going particularly fast, but I held my camera tightly. I noted the towns we passed and took photos I haven’t seen since. We ate pasta in the square that day. We sampled wine. I was content.
***
Once when I was in Santa Fe, I wandered into a shop that looked like an old trading post. There were hats everywhere. They were surrounded by rugs and turquoise. I was poking around absentmindedly when a man who introduced himself as Randy Rodriguez piped up: I have a hat that was made for you.
Randy started digging through piles. He threw hats every which way till he found what he was looking for. He held one up, triumphant: Put this on.
First of all, the hat fit. Secondly, the color was right. Randy does hats for Hollywood, he said.
I looked in the mirror and liked what I saw, though I hadn’t been shopping for a hat. I sent an emergency photo to my friend Leah: Do I need this? She said yes. Randy’s own friend was in the shop, and the duo assured me the hat was perfect. Like the wand chooses its wizard, so this hat had chosen me.
It was hard, but I walked away. I told Randy I would think about the hat and possibly return. I’m sure you know how this ends.
That hat never left my mind, so four days later I went back. Randy’s face lit up: My friend just asked if the tall girl came back to buy her hat.
Accustomed to East Coast frills, I asked Randy if I could wear my new hat in the rain. He laughed and said if I managed to mess it up, he would buy it back for more.
Randy sent me off with a hat and what I think was a blessing: If I looked like you, I would never take that hat off. I’d get in lots of fights.
***
On another trip to Italy I wandered through Brescia, a small city near Milan that, five months later, would become Italy’s unforgiving epicenter of Covid-19. I waited for my husband to finish rehearsal, happily exploring shops along cobbled streets.
There was a shoe store whose owner I graced with embarrassing arm movements when the Italian word for “conductor” slipped my mind. There was an antique shop where I made note of lovely things I could never carry home. There was a friendly bar owner who made salads for us late one night when all restaurants were closed.
I’ll never forget the old world candy shop in Brescia, where I bought very-European-looking sweets from an octogenarian who spoke no English. I gazed at pretty packaging around the store. I eavesdropped when a friend stopped by to say hello. I appreciated service from another time.
Thankfully, I understood what numbers the clerk said at checkout and handed over my coins.
***
These are vignettes that remind me of life before the pandemic, a time when I wasn’t free of struggle but I was, at least, able to explore the world with fewer hurdles. As I begin to dip my toes into travel again this summer, I am reminded that pleasure opens doors that leave me feeling most like myself. Sometimes pleasurable feelings accompany work, hobbies, or obligation, but pleasure in its own right is just as important, and just as deserved.
Pleasure for pleasure’s sake was almost abandoned during our pandemic year. We throttled into survival mode, some more cautious than others, treading into unknown territory every time we left the house. Pleasure wasn’t completely forsaken—I enjoyed plenty of moments throughout the year—but it took a backseat to safety, our top priority.
Now the word on the street is back to work, back to normal, back to our lives from before. We are rushing back and rushing through. In parts of the world that are opening up, we are living at full speed, though our brains and nervous system can’t always keep up. We wonder again: What just happened?
Despite positive change, we remain aware of vaccination rates, aware of the delta variant. We know the life we’re living could be taken away. This period lies between what we just experienced and whatever comes next. Here in liminal spaces, we pave a way forward.
Pre-pandemic pleasures represent times I felt freer to enjoy the world, and in turn, enjoy myself. Pleasure has undeniable parallels with privilege, but I like to consider states of being—simple means of enjoyment and appreciation—that exist outside oppressive systems that hold entire populations down. When those populations insist on joy, for example, pleasure becomes an act of resistance.
Given the state of the world, it is tempting to remain practical, to prioritize safety and security above all else, to stay radical. But in a world where states intentionally strip pandemic relief benefits from their citizens, where convenience and comfort for some rely on long hours and insufficient pay for others, where the powers that be benefit from the masses being exhausted, overworked, and disempowered, pleasure is a radical choice, indeed.
Between you and me—
I am visiting the ocean this weekend! Under a full moon, no less. I wrote this piece before leaving. I look forward to returning next week, but for now, I want to share this illustration I love by Claudia Schmid. Her work makes me want to start writing children’s books and never stop.
Wishing you pockets of pleasure this week. Take care out there.
WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is written by Lauren Maxwell. If you enjoy this newsletter, please consider becoming a sponsor. You can also click the heart, share online, forward to a friend, or buy Lauren a coffee. It all helps!
Beautiful