letting pleasure matter

So “going analog” is trending.

I’m not much for trends but I am loving a return to physical everything, while still enjoying the magic of technology - like how I can dictate my handwritten posts into Evernote to prepare for posting on Substack. Because lately, I’ve been loving writing posts in a notebook. Stream of consciousness. Slower movements. Fewer thoughts competing for airtime. Less urgency. Less proving. More permission.

I’m letting myself write and create for myself, simply because I want to.
No forcing. No pressure to produce. No need to finish what no longer feels good.

I’ve always loved beginnings, picking things up, starting fresh. What’s new is this:
I’m no longer dragging guilt behind me when I move on. I’m letting “does this feel good?” be a real metric. That question has rarely been allowed into my decision-making.

Somewhere along the way, I relocated pleasure to the backseat.

(Which, honestly, conjures a whole different image. Steamed-up windows, awkward angles, half-clothed bodies. My sixty-year-old self shakes her head while high-fiving my sixteen-year-old self. You go, baby. Chase that pleasure.)

As I was saying.

Pleasure has been demoted. No authority. No voice. No seat at the table.

Practical. Responsible. Functional things were put in charge instead.

That’s what we’re supposed to do, right?

But when I write it out, ink on paper, it almost sounds ridiculous. Especially when I’m writing with the most glorious vintage Sarasa teal pen simply because it gives me pleasure.

Pleasure is my focus word for 2026.

My mind was appalled about this choice. Worried about appearances. About what people might think of such a “hedonistic” choice. It tried to redirect me toward safer words like slow, awareness, presence.

All worthy. All connected.
But not exact.

I want pleasure because I want what I want to matter.

And it has to matter to me first.

---

Today’s reach toward pleasure looked like lighting candles in every room of the house to welcome the gentle turning from dark toward light.

For weeks now, light has been slowly returning. We lived on faith for a while. Now we can see it. Feel it. Even with snow still on the ground. Even in South Carolina.

Here’s the part that matters most:

I didn’t wait for conditions to be perfect.

The house is cluttered from winter storms. Gift bags still line the bedroom wall from a gathering not yet celebrated. Six potatoes sit on the counter. Lego boxes on the table.

None of that stopped me.

Pleasure didn’t ask for readiness.
It asked for willingness.

So I lit the candles

and stepped back into rhythm.

This year of letting pleasure matter feels like the beginning of something even more. Prioritizing pleasure not as indulgence or escape, but as a way of listening.
Of choosing. Of returning to rhythm. Of letting what feels good have a voice in my life.

---

What would it feel like to choose pleasure before everything is “ready”?

---