interesting and fun
you decide what qualifies
I liked New York less than I thought I would. Or, to be more specific, I liked it less than I wish I had. Or, to be as exact as possible, given my purported penchant for places that offer wide-ranging sensory delight on demand, I’m reluctant to admit that I didn’t fall in love with the city because doing so means that I’m not the type of person who belongs in New York, which I feel like I should be.
writes: ‘Shoulds’ are a cloak we’ve grown used to the weight of. I take this to mean that ‘shoulds’ are so ingrained that we forget we're operating under them. They tend to sound like this: you should go to a top university; you should become a corporate hotshot; you should put energy into getting married before it’s too late; you should pilot the robot even though you're a traumatized 14-year-old who just wants your father's approval. Yours might vary depending on your region of residence, ethnic upbringing, and whether or not you are the main character of a popular 1990s anime.I thought I had mostly graduated from ‘shoulds,’ having escaped popular conceptions of what a respectable career path and romantic life look like in my early 20s. However, the truth is I am still beholden to many shoulds; they are just harder to pin down because they’ve evolved to be slightly kookier than the normal line-up. Things like, you should be bolder in pursuing a soul-affirming lifestyle (despite the inevitable challenges associated with deviating from the norm) because you’re one of the lucky few with the requisite privileges to make such an existence not only viable but enjoyable, and sitting here languishing in the ease of an unexceptional existence is an enormous waste of the exquisite fortune you’ve been granted. And then: you should not be so conceited as to think you are capable of exceptional things.
After some light self-assessment, there are two main ‘shoulds’ that underscore my life, and both clash with the fact that New York unsettled me.
The first ‘should’ is the belief that I should be interesting. The obvious strategy to become more interesting is to experience as much as you can, which has been my approach for several years. Corresponding behaviors include saying “yes” to anything that doesn’t conflict with existing plans, being resistant to eating at the same restaurant or visiting the same destination because “there’s still so much left to see,” and needing to try everything twice: once to say you've done it, and again to register whether or not you liked it.
I can supply reasonable defenses for my desire to be interesting, such as “It’s commendable to be a citizen of the world” and “Being a human is about experiencing the fullest range of sensations possible.” But the truth is simpler and more damning: I want to be interesting so that people will want me around. Being interesting is a guarantee that I will belong, that I will be a value add, that I will be liked. For others, subbing in ‘beautiful’ or ‘smart’ might hit harder — ‘interesting’ is just what resonates for me, likely because it’s the dimension where I believe I have the highest probability of success. (Beauty and intelligence largely seem like genetic gifts, whereas interestingness feels fairly malleable.)
My second big ‘should’ is that I should be having fun. This works in two ways: First, whenever I'm not having fun, I should be actively working to change that. Second, I should be able to control my emotions and attitude enough to enjoy the situation I'm in. In other words: I should be enjoying myself basically all the time — either because I'm capable enough to create the experiences I want, or because I'm emotionally mature enough to find joy in whatever life gives me. The first imperative stems from my pedestalling of independence, which my therapist would probably attribute to my upbringing (and she’d be right!). The second comes from paying too much attention in sociology class and adopting a worldview that demands I be devastatingly grateful for my blessed life, which makes me feel guilty for sometimes being sad despite the obvious abundance that surrounds me.
Both ‘shoulds’ explain my resistance to admitting that I was overwhelmed by New York (and not in an inspiring, ambition-generating way that made me itch for stardom and/or artistic excellence, but in a way that made me reconsider a settled life in small-town America where the beer of choice is Miller Lite and the postman knows my name).
Shedding the self-imposed pressure to fulfill the mid-20s obligation to spend at least one season in New York helped me realize that I desire a calm, contained life much more than I previously thought. And being loving and accepting toward myself helped me realize that not wanting to do certain things doesn’t mean that I am uninteresting and un-fun; it means that my knowledge of what is interesting and fun to me is becoming sharper than ever.
Over the past 30 days, I did lots of neat-sounding things, as is my MO. For example, I experienced the loudest sounds I’ve ever heard at Portola Music Festival, then shattered that record two weeks later by stumbling upon an insane street in Harlem where people park their cars in rows, mount stereo boxes to their roofs, and engage in what I can only describe as sonic warfare: music cranked as loud as it can possibly go, all different tracks, blasted in every direction like lasers in a booby trap. I hiked a section of the PCT, got lost, and accidentally crossed a four-lane highway. I saw Hadestown on Broadway, ate Michelin-starred food, and reunited with one of my closest friends from high school who is now a professional textile artist and competitive rock climber. I roofied my boyfriend, twice, on purpose (ask me to tell you the story in person). I took a cruise around the bay dressed as the statue of Priscilla Chan that Mark Zuckerberg commissioned to revive the ancient Roman tradition of making statues of your wife. All of these were great and felt like ‘me’; yay for activities!
I also did plenty of mundane things that I normally wouldn’t mention, but also liked. For example, I watched YouTube videos of people building useless robots, treated myself to the overpriced but very good goat cheese from the bakery next door, and finished season 2 of Ted Lasso in a hunched position that kinda made my neck hurt. I left a party early because I was sleepy and wanted to lie down, even though the cool thing to do would’ve been to rally. I worked a normal amount of hours at my normal job. I washed my sheets. I slept in. Yay for these things too!
‘Shoulds’ are sticky, and I don’t think I will shed the pressure to be interesting and fun any time soon. But I am expanding my definition of interesting and fun to contain activities that aren’t stereotypically flashy.
Last Sunday, we celebrated my friend M’s 26th birthday in the backyard of her childhood home. We ate dessert first — three cakes: raspberry cheesecake, apple cake, and rotweinkuchen. Afterward, we had pizza, made crafts, and opened gifts. By most standards, it was a normal birthday gathering — no theme, no gimmicks, no hook. But it was still interesting and fun to me, because my friend is interesting and fun to me.
Don’t let an outside jury decide what you find interesting and fun. There is only one god who produces reliable answers, and it’s you.