i’m mostly here to enjoy myself

an ode to Glynnis MacNicol's most recent book

Shortly following my return home, I finished my 25^th book of the year: Glynnis MacNicol’s I’m Mostly Here to Enjoy Myself: One Woman’s Pursuit of Pleasure in Paris. I consumed this book like I do any other autobiography or memoir, by author-narrated audiobook. It’s a blend of a travel guide and reflection of Glynnis’ life amidst the pandemic as she searched for enjoyment in Paris. Not only did it make me want to book a trip to Paris, to drink a chocolat chaud along the Seine, but it also assuaged my guilt about my hedonism.

“We are frequently reminded there is no greater sin a woman can commit than to take great pleasure in herself.”

- what I believe to be the thesis of MacNicol’s I’m Mostly Here to Enjoy Myself

A friend’s boyfriend (who I would also consider a friend of mine) was asked what I do for a living. His response: “She’s just living life!” That will now be my listed profession on LinkedIn. (Note: I’m actually a commercial appraiser, but that’s not as cheeky.)

I recently asserted to a friend that, “I rather die than spend one second of my life doing something I do not want to do.” I was being a touch dramatic, but the essence remains. Simply put, life is short, and I refuse to be miserable. I won’t be sitting behind a clunky desk staring at a nondescript gray wall for forty hours a week. I won’t waste eight hours a day doomscrolling TikTok. I won’t live the same monotonous day over and over until one day I have a midlife crisis. With more conviction and determination than I’ve ever had, I will not accept a life I do not deserve.

crash out queen

If pre-pandemic me knew of my refusal to be woeful, she would scoff at my naivety and simpleness. (Note: I don’t think this difference in outlook can be attributed to the pandemic. I think it was more I just grew up, but the pandemic seems like the clearest way to denote the two periods instead of pinpointing an age. Really, high school and early college me was quite depressed.)

Before, I would stay in awful situations as if I was paying penance for existing, and it was my fate to be unhappy. Now, I am well-versed in the art of extrication. I’ve cut misery out of my life like it was a tumor. Now, I am mostly here to enjoy myself.

mindset shifting tweet from the Queen

This vow to prioritize pleasure doesn’t mean I don’t do hard things. (That innuendo was unintentional but nevertheless enjoyed.) It means I refuse to stay up on the cross lamenting about how difficult my life is and how tough I must be to endure it. All things considered, I live a relatively cushioned life—I’m a white girl with a blog. But even so, I am not a better person for grinning and bearing my sufferings. If I knew I had a thorn in my thumb, would I resign to having only nine fingers, forever mourning my thumb that is still presently there, or would I dig the intruder out?

I don’t have a lot of sympathy for people that complain about situations they have full capability but no intention of changing. This may seem harsh, but after someone has complained about the same thing (whether that be your boss, partner, job, living situation, health, etc.) three times to me with no action to change their situation, I do not care anymore. I will not be a guest at their incessant pity party. Instead, I will throw an extravagant party for every little thing in life, even if I’m the only one in attendance.

“But inside I am aflame with gratitude that I have only myself to carry around, however heavy all these me’s might currently be.”
― Glynnis MacNicol, I'm Mostly Here to Enjoy Myself: One Woman's Pursuit of Pleasure in Paris

This sentence follows a passage complaining about the weight of life, specifically the heavy logistics of traveling, and shouldering it all alone. I often travel alone—it’s an unavoidable truth as a single woman with a big appetite for seeing the world. Because I won’t wait on a partner’s presence to book the trip, it means I have to carry the luggage alone. Yeah, the bags are heavy, and when I forget my toothpaste, I can’t assume my partner packed theirs. I deal with delayed flights, traffic, turbulence, lost luggage, and jetlag by my lonesome. Silver lining: there’s no constant companion to bicker with and annoy the piss out of me when we’re both jet lagged and short fused.

There’s less to distract me from myself when I travel alone, but that’s the point. I don’t travel to run away from myself. I travel to gain a better understanding, of the world and of myself. There are entire selves I would not know if I didn’t get on the plane alone.

When you don’t have a built-in person to share every happening with, it can make experiences feel less valid. As a society, we tend to appreciate shared experiences more than solo experiences. (Nerd out with me and check out this really neat study on sharing experiences.) Even solo experiences are shared on social media—or in a Substack post.

“I find that sometimes the easiest way to stick to your own experience of your life is, sadly, to stay quiet about it. Slide invisibly through the world doing exactly what you want. Don’t offer anything up for review. If people don’t know what you’re doing, they can’t tell you why it doesn’t matter. Clearly this is not the route I have chosen, though I can see its appeal.”
― Glynnis MacNicol, I'm Mostly Here to Enjoy Myself: One Woman's Pursuit of Pleasure in Paris

Partially I’m pushed to document everything because I’m afraid I’ll forget it one day, which I know is eventually inevitable. No memory is permanent, and even the first remembering of the experience is distorted even if only a little. But 10 years down the road, who will be there to remind me of the trip we took a decade ago?

I think of my friends—some of them married, some in otherwise serious relationships—who have never traveled alone. I think, in a broad stroke kind of way, they’re wary of traveling alone in the same way I am wary of getting married at twenty-three. I have a meticulously developed wedding board on Pinterest, and my daydreams are occupied by a faceless soulmate, yet I shudder at the idea of tethering myself to another right now. I’m sure they have imagined themselves reading on a faraway beach or wandering a museum all by themselves, yet the ticket remains unbooked.

My solo traveling does not make me superior or more enlightened than my coupled friends. My choice to be single isn’t a slight to my partnered friends.

“What really irks this woman, I’ve come to realize, is that I appear to be enjoying myself… As if my, or our, enjoyment undermines the hard work they have devoted to staying the path. And worse, calls into question the rewards that path offers. If I don’t feel bad about my life, how can they feel good? I used to feel the need to launch a rousing defense of myself in the face of this, but that’s gone away. It feels like enough that my life is no longer a question mark to me. Here at this table, I don’t need to answer for myself.”
― Glynnis MacNicol, I'm Mostly Here to Enjoy Myself: One Woman's Pursuit of Pleasure in Paris

That’s not even the point of this piece really. The truth is it’s uncomfortable and challenging to do anything alone, at first. Even sitting at a coffee shop alone can seem too scary—it’s one of my favorite ways to spend a weekday morning. But really, as corny as it sounds, we aren’t ever alone. If you view everything as one communal, universal energy, then everything you experience is ultimately shared.

turtle watching spot

Perched on a rock just offshore, I watched a sunbathing sea turtle pull its way back to the ocean and swim unbothered right past me and its turtle friends back into the surf. I wish the people I love most were witnessing the raw beauty of the moment. Instead, I shared the moment from a distance with a few strangers standing on the beach, one a young girl that cheered when the turtle at last reached the water. I did cry, obviously. I also was so incredibly hungover. Real coming-of-age movie scene.

In a way, this is another attempt to romanticize my loneliness. Maybe I’d feel less alone if everyone else felt less partnered. Then, I’d just be another individual, enjoying life.