Phoebe: On one more

One more. One more slice of banana bread. One more chapter. One more brownie. One more episode. One more drink.

If you enjoy something, keep doing it.

Since I can remember, I’ve always wanted one more of everything I enjoy. I don’t like when things that make me happy end. I know that sounds like an obvious sentiment, but in my case, I often try to extend things past their natural conclusion.

I think this habit stems from something generally good. I often cite my mantra as, “If you enjoy something, keep doing it” –particularly in moments where I’m feeling indulgent, rebellious, and somewhat facetious. There are various interpretations of that motto, both good and bad. The good is: trust yourself, seek out what makes you happy, and do it; don’t let other people influence what it is that sparks joy for you. The bad is: do what you enjoy, regardless of what it is, regardless of all other factors. Is that an addict mentality? Perhaps, though I’m not sure an addict really enjoys their habits; they’re just stuck doing them. Does my motto, different from an addict’s, encourage an alternative kind of stuck? Complacency in a singular habit? I think for my motto to mean something positive, it must be applied in instances where the things you enjoy are actually good for you (or at least not bad for you). But won’t something that’s good for you stop being good for you if you do it long enough? When I consider my personal mantra, the various parameters that must hold true for it to be positive are pretty specific. A motto that can’t be applied universally isn’t so great of a motto, is it? As you can see, I’m pretty conflicted about the whole thing, constantly trying to distinguish between want and logic, inertia and intention. 

Frankly, I don’t trust my own judgment. I’m inclined to want to keep doing things that aren’t good for me. Switching gears is hard for me. For instance, if I’m watching something at night, it is very hard for me to turn off the TV, get off the couch, brush my teeth, and get into bed. If I turn off the TV, I can climb into bed, read a little, be cozy, and then doze off to sleep. And I love lying in bed and reading. If I go to bed, I’m more likely to sleep earlier and wake up feeling refreshed and happy. However, it’s hard for me to not want to watch another episode. In the face of “what’s good for me”–brushed teeth, bed, and reading–I want to procrastinate even if I’ll ultimately enjoy those activities more than my current one.

The other day Andrew sent me a tweet by organizational psychologist Adam Grant. It read, “What separates passion from obsession is working out of interest rather than guilt. Avoiding unpleasant emotions is a sign of extrinsic motivation. The hallmark of intrinsic motivation is following curiosity and pursuing meaning.” This got me thinking about my own motivations. Certain activities that I enjoy and crave clearly involve the pursuit of meaning. Writing, for example, helps me to articulate my thoughts and provides emotional release. Like an exhilarating sprint, writing leaves me breathless, accomplished, and empty in a way that makes me feel somehow full. However, even when I’ve had a nice writing session, and I’m not totally ready to stop, I will rarely extend my work past the time I had set out to write for. “I smashed my goal, why risk it?”  I suppose that sometimes the pursuit of meaning intimidates me. I fear that I won’t reach the potential I outline in my brain–when writing, I fear my writing will be shit; when running, that my leg will cramp and I won’t feel fast; when working on home projects, that I will run out of steam and leave them unfinished–and that this unrealized potential will render the effort expended a waste. 

I dose the pursuit of meaning, and binge everything else. I think I want one more of whatever time-suck I’m entertaining because I’m scared of facing myself and the consequences of not being good enough. I think I see beauty in the binge activities because they are free from the pressures of performance. But if I remove the pressures of performance from the meaningful pursuits, will I feel more free to explore them without a time limit? Surprisingly, time home in recent weeks has helped me view the pursuit of meaning as pure pleasure. The days in which I force myself to expend effort — towards writing, fitness, relationship development, cooking — have been endlessly more rewarding. Because we’ve have so many free days recently, there is less pressure to make each perfect. If my essay is trash today, the exercise in writing was still worthwhile. If my tortillas come out wonky, I can try tomorrow with avocado oil instead of olive oil. If I get a cramp and don’t improve my pace throughout the run, then I needed the recovery and I can run sprints tomorrow. Perhaps the pursuit of meaning is less outcome-oriented. By expanding my definition of success to be more forgiving, more of my activities feel pressure-free and beautiful, and I’m less prone to procrastinate or extend certain diversions beyond their natural conclusion. When the pursuit of meaning is less intimidating, I’m less inclined to binge what fills in the rest of my time. 

THIS IS (NOT) THE END

My preference for “one more” is more than the product of my binge mentality; it is also a result of extreme nostalgia. I have a fear of the end; I don’t like endings. For some reason, ends feel so final to me. Of course, ends are final; in fact, the definition of end is a final part of something. But life shouldn’t be viewed in ends. It should be viewed in beginnings. There are few moments in life that should feel like ends as they unfold: graduations, breakups, moving, death. Those big ends, as I’ll call them, are often offset by acknowledged beginnings: the start of real life, the seeking of love and joy and personal independence, the start of a new life in a new city, and (if you believe in it,) the start of the afterlife.

Most other ends in life happen unbeknownst to us and are only identified in retrospect, when we have the comfort of the present to protect us. Oh wow, our dog is no longer a puppy, but she’s now a grown and beautiful dog. I guess he and I aren’t really friends anymore, but I think that’s because we both evolved into different social circles. I can’t believe there was that time when I didn’t have to worry about finances and bills, but I have a job and a boyfriend and a city that I love and I like my life now. The present can function as a shield to protect us from mourning the end. But imagine if you’d known that you were holding your puppy for the last time before she grew into a dog, imagine you knew this was the last time you’d hang out with that friend, imagine you knew you were enjoying the last few minutes of childhood innocence without responsibility, and responsibility was incoming… That knowing makes those natural progressions feel like ends. That knowing makes those natural progressions harder. See the thing about me is, I know. And viewing life as a collection of ends means that life’s natural progression includes an inordinate amount of associated dread for the future.

I’m precious about moments. I am so skilled at seeing the beauty of something arbitrary, the beauty of now. “Wait, can we pause this conversation for a second and just admire that building?” “Look how tenderly that little girl is petting the dog, how sweet.” “God, have you ever smelled anything better?” I’m constantly taking in everything, looking around me, memorializing where I am right now. And what a beautiful way to live and think and see and enjoy life. But if I can see the beauty in so many things, why do I also have a scarcity mentality? If I find so many moments beautiful, why is it hard for me to trust that the end of this moment will likely lead to another I find beautiful? It’s hard for me to see what is on the other side of the end I perceive, and I hold on to the beauty of this moment too tightly, for fear of it slipping away. 

The binge mentality and nostalgia driving “one more” aren’t so different: they’re both the product of the ability to appreciate the perfection of the present moment, and in practice, they both stem from a fear that what’s coming next can’t be as good. I’m working to remove the self-doubt incurred by my inclination for “one more” by breaking down the distinction between reveling and pursuing what is good for me. Switching between meaningless revel and meaningful pursuits isn’t a chain of distinct ends but is one long continuation of personal expression. I can’t eradicate ends from my life, and I can’t promise myself that the pursuit of meaning will always result in answers, but by removing the pressure to perform in a certain way, I can decrease the delineation between freedom and meaning. I can break down the fear stopping me from taking a step. And once I do that, I’m less concerned about staying where I am, and more comfortable moving forward. Less emotional roller coaster, more exploration. One more? One more step. Forever.