I want you to get off. More.
In your bedroom. In the living room. In the boardroom. In all the rooms of your life.
This can be a metaphor – seek pleasure, find fulfillment, it’s the only sustainable way to work, nurture, and live – or it can be literal:
Have More Orgasms.
Women Are Hungry
Nicole Daedone thinks women are hungry. We’re not satisfied. We’re craving. We’re studying and working and mothering (our kids or the world) and continually operating with a pleasure deficit.
It’s true. We are.
But I don’t think it’s only women. I think The Pleasure Deficit explains unsatisfying consumerism and mindless materialism and even the outlines of our macro-economic woes. I think that most of us don’t know how to take care of ourselves and we’re attempting self-care with false luxury rather than conscious satisfaction and intentional indulgence.
In the last few months, I’ve peeked through a window into a manly-man world where men work intensely physical jobs far away from home for long periods of time. They live in camps or out of generic hotels, and when they’re not working they indulge in steak dinners, drinks, women, toys, trucks. In old-boy speak, they work hard and play hard. And while most of them get into it with the idea that they’ll do it for one or two or three years and then get out with a nest egg or capital to do That Thing They’re Dreaming Of…
…many are still working in the camps nine, ten, twenty-five years later.
With no money in the bank.
Because when they get out of the camp they blow the money on hookers and blow, and, if they’re one of the lucky ones, child support for kids they adore from afar.
It’s easy to gaze at this from a distance and say, well that’s just dumb and undisciplined. But I think that cycle is an attempt at self-care. It’s the dark side of self-care. These men put out all day long, seven days a week, for months at a time without a break, without having anything enriching coming in to balance the expenditure. They’re away from friends, family, and community, and the very nature and logistics of the industry shears off those attachments – and sources of care. They can’t pursue hobbies or artistic endeavours because they’re working-eating-sleeping. Work camps are not designed for other-care (and the opportunity for other-care is important because it’s an antidote to depletion, depression, and electric, predatory need) or self-care.
And so when the project ends, they emerge from the camps like bears blinking in the spring sunlight. They’re hungry. Summer will be short. And they can buy some pleasure.
Collect ye berries where ye may. (To the virgins: make much of time.)
And so the consumptive habits and indulgences and cycles of work-camp-life are an attempt at self-care, an attempt to replenish depleted reserves, provide pleasure to an exhausted, emaciated, unsatisfied soul.
They’re hungry. We’re hungry.
So that’s soul-stifling life in an oilfield, mineral exploration, or a work camp.
But how much of ‘regular’ life and feminine experience is set up like a work camp? We produce and produce and produce: babies, books, spotless kitchens, spot-on meetings, spotty marriages.
Nicole Daedone is right. Women are hungry. We all are. Our whole world contains a whole lot of hungry ghosts. And when she – we – say “hungry”, we don’t (only) mean for food. We’re constantly craving creation, sustenance, pleasure, fulfillment, meaning. We want to feel good in our skins, in our homes, in our workplaces, in our classrooms, in our bedrooms, in our camps, in our communities, in our world.
That doesn’t mean we want (only) to be stroked. We want to stroke. To contribute. To create. To connect. To care. To please and be pleased. To ameliorate the pleasure deficit.
But. Gratification isn’t entirely the answer. Quick-fixes and instant gratification can lure you into a spiral of compulsion and remediation wherein you’re constantly compensating for the enduring lack in your life.
(You know this is your life if you’re living for the weekends, vacations, the 5’oclock glass of wine, NBC, chocolate, hook-ups, daydreaming about decorating the imaginary condo you’ll live in when you finally summon the courage to leave his ass.)
When the bright spots in your life sunless life are exhaustible resources, consumed then finished, it’s time to seek meaning and invest in sustainable self-care.
BUT. Instant gratification gets a bad rap. When you’re pursuing a goal where the pay-off is distant – like building that nest egg, publishing that book, realizing that dream – daily or at least regular doses of reward are essential. Pleasure pay-offs wed you to your divine purpose.
Sustenance is the answer. Sustainability is the answer. Orgasms are the answer: you can always have more, with a partner if you’re so blessed and choose, or with yourself.
Masturbation is more effective than medication. (My sweetie would have me introduce a caveat here: sometimes the effects of depression prevent you from getting off, in which case, my two-orgasms-per-day prescription won’t work, so please do see a doctor.) I swear vigourous and frequent self-pleasure was how I survived this summer’s long and dark depressive episode.
And it’s not just a coping mechanism in times of trouble. Orgasms in gorgeous times have gorgeous results, too.
Get on The Two Orgasm a Day Diet. Please.
But the Two Orgasm a Day Diet is not a program of deprivation calculated to starve your body into size-two submission. Instead, I’m using ‘diet’ as a way of being, what you feed yourself, in all senses of the word. And I’m using ‘orgasm’ to represent gratification, bliss, blossoming, fulfillment.
Because that’s what has happened for me. Two and a half years ago I wrote a mortifying first blog post:
This blog is a personal and social experiment. What happens when an overweight, broke, semi-lost but pretty smart single mom decides to rewrite her life in 18 months or less?
In short, my plan is to write, reflect and act my way into a life of purpose and passion. I’d love it if you would join me on the journey.
And then, after I set it down, I set about doing IT every day. Writing –
– about sex, money and meaning.
Trying to get more of all of ’em. Trying to write and and love my way into my dream life.
And I did it. Because I did it every day. I wrote. I published. I asked. I lived. I made mistakes. I stopped collecting mistakes. I took risks. I experimented. I admitted my desires – an impassioned life and sex life, a writing career conducted from the comfort of my living room, a man, a baby, adoration – and I indulged them.
I followed the tracks laid by my unrelenting desires. Desire is powerful. It won’t be denied.
And so it is sustainable. Feed it.
This is why I write about sex and why I say sex is my yoga. Ecstatic, authentic sexuality is a place of transcendental learning, indulgence, communion, commitment.
And that’s powerful. That’s power. That’s the mofo fountain of life, baby.
And so, to really step into your glory in every aspect of your life, feed yourself some delight. Every day. At least twice a day. Get on the Two Orgasm a Day Diet.
You can do it metaphorically (‘delight’) or graphically (get thee many cataclysmic orgasms). Either way gratifies me. Deeply.
Try The Two Orgasm a Day Diet for a week, two weeks, a month, a lifetime. Then tell me – no, tell all of us – how you fucked and loved and cared and created and came your way into a life that satisfies rather than satisfices.