pleasure

“Our self-systems are like leaky buckets. No matter how much pleasure we’re getting, we’re bleeding from our many holes” – Jamie Weil

There’s something I never really gave any thought to:  While human beings are wired for pleasure, sadly, we are incapable of collecting and stockpiling joy?

No one can argue that we are experts at doing that with fear and anxiety. It seems as if humans are hardwired to hoard all of those bottom feeding emotions. Collecting them in the storage unit parts of our brains that we visit much too often.

When something good happens I always say to my friends, “Wow! I’m going to live off the fumes of THIS for a while!” Because I have to remind myself to do that.
To inhale deeply while it lasts.
Because…Fumes!

The joy leaves only fumes while the shit sticks. It sets up camp inside my narrative complete with a big old tent, a canoe, some jet skis, a generator, and a box of graham crackers.

Am I right?

In other words, after a peak experience, we as realists go right back to chopping wood, carrying water.

“After the ecstasy, the laundry.” ~ Puritan mindset

Shouldn’t we try and change that? I think so. So does Jason. Take a quick listen.

Carry on,
xox

This post from two years ago makes me smile for a number of reasons.

First of all, the audio. Come on! Hilarious!

Then because the adventure I refer to DID change my life, it gave permission to call myself a writer which then unleashed the Kraken, so to speak. And finally there is the fact that I’m marinating in a delicious gumbo of anticipation this very minute regarding the most magical project EVER—and I’ve gotten so much better!

Are you camp instant gratification or camp anticipation? Which one are ya?
Carry on,
xox

Anticipation. Anticipa.a.tion
Is making me late.
Is keeping me waiting.
~Music and lyrics by Carly Simon

In a little over four weeks I will be embarking on an exciting adventure.
It feels life changing.

Hello, I don’t know if you’ve met me?
I am the “Queen of Instant Gratification” so the anticipation is KILLING me!

To some people, anticipation is delicious, something to be spread on little toast points and relished.

My husband is such a person. He will create little pockets of anticipation whenever he can.
Looking forward to weekend rides with his buddies, his Memorial trip every year with his brother.
I see him light up when he talks about it or is texting the details.

He enjoys EVERY SINGLE SECOND of the wait.
It makes me laugh and roll my eyes, but I do envy him his simple pleasures.

Me you ask? Not so much.

Anticipation is torture for me. I’m THAT girl.

Spontaneity is MY middle name.

Come on , let’s not draw this thing out, show me the surprise, or tell me the secret. Get on with it!

Byron Katie says that anticipation is where fear and terror live, not reality.
I usually don’t disagree with her, but from what I’ve observed at my house, that is not the case.

Now if you’re talking expectation – I believe that about expectations. I’ve met fear and terror there. But that’s a conversation for another day.

I think anticipation is a lost art—and that makes me sad.
It needs to make a comeback!

I’m not sure I can lead the parade on this, but from living with The Grand Marshall, I gotta tell ya, anticipation kicks instant gratification’s ass every time.

What’s wrong with us? (Notice how I’ve lumped you in with Team Janet)

Why can’t the wait be great?

We want something, we buy it. We don’t save fifty bucks a month living on the excitement of the dream for a year.
Not anymore.
Shit. Amazon now has same-day delivery; they must have read all my emails complaining about the overnight wait. Same-day was MADE for people like me.

My husband. He’ll wait. He’ll look forward ALL WEEK to the Thursday delivery.

I want to be in his camp, I’m just not wired that way.

I do remember getting VERY excited when I was about nine and the one telephone we had in the house would ring. My dad would announce: Janet, it’s for you, and my heart would start racing. Who was it? Was it a boy? Thirty seconds of excruciating anticipation. Maybe that’s the cause for me. The point of origin for this particular neurosis?

HE, on the other hand, was raised in France.

They wait to see a doctor. The entire country waits until August to go on vacation, they even wait until after work in the evening to buy bread for dinner.

As he will patiently re-explain to me at least once a month:the feeling of looking forward to something is magical and must be savored.

Like a fine wine or stinky cheese, it gets richer and more complex over time. As each detail of the anticipated event unfolds, the feeling mounts; until, as I have witnessed with him, it culminates in a night before Christmas kind of giddy, sleepless euphoria – wearing a silly grin.

It’s impossible for me to maintain such a high level of excitement.

I’ll explode. My face will get stuck grinning stupidly, and I need my sleep.

“Are we there yet?”

I DO get excited, but it’s my nature to wait until the very last minute.
I just want the event, vacation, surprise, whatever to start, I don’t make a big Magilla out of the lead-up time. I don’t mark off days on the calendar to remind me how much glorious waiting time I have left.

But I just may this time.
I see how the other half lives and it looks…….fun.

I too want to wear a silly grin and become giddy as the days draw closer.

Let’s see how this goes, reviving this lost art of anticipation, shall we?

Are you in my camp or his? Do you relish the wait?
I’d love to hear your stories of anticipation my dear ones, they’ll help me!
Thanks!

Sending love….in a minute…..wait for it.
Xox

Wanna listen instead?
https://soundcloud.com/jbertolus/anticipation

I can’t ever imagine taking pleasure in someone else’s misfortune. Can you? No, of course you can’t!
Yet, I know people like that exist.
You know, they hang around the not so nice people.

I hear them in line at Alfreds;
I’ve overheard their telephone conversations (okay, just one side, but you can still get the gist) in airport terminals;
and someone has actually said something snarky and malicious TO MY FACE about a mutual acquaintance.
More than once.

The first time it came as such a shock that I just stammered, the food falling from my surprised lips, and to my credit I neither agreed nor rose to our friends defense — I just got up and left.

I say it’s to my credit because if I had agreed with the villainous, insane pleasure this woman was taking at the expense of said friend, well, I would have had to join The Douche Bag Club, a club so fraught with stink that you can only remain a member for about one month before dying of asphyxiation.

If I had come to our friend’s defense it would have come to blows and the place we were in was public, and although I may be on the small and polite side, I’m a scrappy spider monkey and I would have taken. her. down.

Plus I was wearing a skirt. And heels. And you have to take those things into account. You cannot wage a good assault in that kind of outfit.

All this to say: When it happened to me again, with someone different, I didn’t hesitate to speak up.

This time I had on pants; and comfortable shoes; and it was a telephone conversation so I could count on very little blood being shed.

Someone we knew had lost a ton of money when one of their stores closed. A real shitastrophy.
I had actually been in on several of the discussions leading up to the closure so I was aware that it had been an extremely hard choice for them to make.

This other person was deriving such delicious gratification, satisfaction, even enjoyment in relaying all the lurid details, as she understood them to be, that her glee reached a fever pitch as she exclaimed how much she loved when “rich people failed big.”

“Hold it right there.” I ordered, after finally hearing enough,
“Although it may look otherwise, it was a smart business decision, besides, that rich person is out in the world doing good things. Remember? They used to pay your salary and health insurance, and although they can probably absorb the loss, it’s still a shit-ton of money and I can assure you, none of this feels good to them.”

My words fell on deaf ears; she had HER story to tell that was a lot juicier but — nowhere near the truth.

It was a tale rife with bankruptcy, botched Botox and marital woes — and I gotta tell ya, this woman was in pig-heaven.

Can you imagine?

Here’s the thing you guys, and I’ve found it to be true time and time again: Those that take pleasure in other’s misfortunes; in failures, divorces, even accidents and tragedies are the side-line sitters — the ones that never take any risk. They live with their butts glued in the safe-seats, and pass judgment on those of us that get our asses kicked on the playing field of life.

Of course they hate rich people, because they don’t have the courage to leave their shitty job and go out on their own. They never ask for a raise, pose the hard questions or have an inspired idea.

Instead, they keep their binoculars trained on the ones that do — watching and waiting for a mis-step.

They are also known to be riddled with envy.
They can’t be happy for anyone’s success; they dismiss it, chalking it up to luck, family money, contacts, astrology, nepotism, anything but hard work, and the guts to take chances.

They also have a hard time with happy marriages, good health, washboard abs, and expensive vacations. Oh, how they hate a nice vacation story!

Please, when you encounter someone like this — and they spew their toxic nonsense all over you — set them straight.

And then drive away…and take an expensive vacation…with rich people.

Love you, Carry on,
xox