Pleasure Notes

It’s amazing how a little flattery from an unexpected source can change the course of my day. Now, I’m not talking about the whistle and honk from the guy in the Pinto at the red light, or the string of Spanish expletives provided by dudes loitering down the street under tennis shoes on a wire. I’m not even talking about sexual dynamic compliments. A compliment from anyone, regardless of gender, age, relation or sexual orientation, is a gift. It doesn’t even have to be spoken. An appreciative smile or nod will do. The joy, shock and, frequently, shyness that comes over the receiver’s face – whether stranger or loved one, co-worker or friend – is awesome to behold. I can actually see how I’ve lightened a person’s day by noticing something as little as the color of their shoes, their new haircut, or the salient point they presented in a morning meeting. And I know what they’re feeling. When unsolicited and sincere, compliments always give me a little jolt of pleasure. The challenge is to accept them. Without qualification.

Compliments

So, compliment someone today. Just a little smile will do. And next time someone compliments you, say “thank you.” Period.

It can be brought on by anger, by excitement, by too many black beans but, regardless of the cause, fire in the belly can not be ignored. It spurs me to take action. It makes it possible to walk away from that lover that still makes me feel weak in the knees when I see him, or grab that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for which I don’t have any experience but more than enough desire, or decide to avoid that cute little taco stand on Vermont for the rest of my days. Fire in the belly burns fast and it burns bright – reds and oranges, volcanoes and sunbursts. You ignore it at your peril.

Fire in the Belly

What does the fire in your belly propel you to do?

Is it possible to be modest about one’s desire for something, or someone? Doesn’t the passion inherent in desire preclude modesty? In the 21st century, is modesty even a trait one would want to have? Should we not be proud of our achievements, vocal in our opinions, firm about our pleasures, confident in our passions? How can modesty not wither, unseen, in the shadow of boldness, given our penchant for hotter, richer, younger, bigger, better, faster, more? I fear the pale palette bouquet is rarely as desirable as a blood red rose.

Modest Desire

But it smells just as sweet.

My current drugs of choice are caffeine and TiVo, but there was a time I walked through the purple haze. Sometimes I wish I could still visit that floating cloud of numbed-out pleasure. Most of the time, however, I strive to free myself of every veil shielding me from the beauty and cruelty of life. Frequently, I feel about as successful as Samantha’s sister in Sixteen Candles. But then I remember what a great high I get from simply basking in the sun (so please, stop raining!) or picking out a new batch of flowers or snort-laughing with a friend. Or kissing a new lover. And I am content once again to trade the haze for a purple bouquet.

Purple Haze

Do you enjoyed an unveiled life or prefer a purple haze?

Much has been made of the rose. Poets and musicians invoke it when addressing love, beauty or life. Why, I wonder? After all, there are many more exotic flowers, many more hearty, many more fragile. But, hell, if Shakespeare and Byron got traction out of the rose, what can we expect from Seal, Bette or Outkast? The rose is traditional. It is safe.

White Roses

Stop and really look a moment – two white roses in a red vase. Simple. Follow their design, though, the way the petals fold and fall… And you are reminded that the rose is anything but simple. Like love, beauty and life.