Ethical Hedonism – Hugs for (almost) everyone!

he·don·ism

ˈhēdəˌnizəm,ˈhedənˌizəm/

noun

• the pursuit of pleasure; sensual self-indulgence.
  the ethical theory that pleasure (in the sense of the satisfaction of desires) is the highest good and proper aim of human life.

I’m not sure if I fall within the typical parameters of a hedonist, but my desire to love and feel good with people is along those lines. There are layers of weird internal ethics, and almost paralyzing fears of harming others through selfishness that prevent me from turning it into a free for all, but the sentiment is there: I like good feelings, and I like giving those good feelings to others.

Unfortunately, it’s often difficult to feel comfortable in expressing the full height of my emotions toward someone, for fear that it will be misinterpreted as some sort of obligation on their part to commit to me FOREVER.

Why the hell is everyone so afraid to just… really like people? It’s simple. You find a person. They make you smile. You make them smile. You get all warm on the inside, and your face feels about to burst every time you see them (especially when they wink at you!). And that feeling may last a day or two, or it might last for even longer. But how the heck are you supposed to know which it is if you don’t even talk about it or admit it?!

Everyone is shoving themselves in these boxes of non-expression. Attachment and excitement are to be avoided. We’re all supposed to be “chill” and keep our options open, and don’t let anyone know that they make our tummies flutter and our faces tingle.

I’m not made for a world where people don’t say what they feel.

I’m openly fascinated by people who are passionate or who make their way in the world in a way I never thought possible. I think I’m dreadfully boring, so I like to live vicariously through others and support them in the things that make them happy.

I love a man whose understanding of the world is so logical and sound and grounding for me when I start flying off into crazy bleeding heart feelings land, and who still maintains a childlike wonder and collects hobbies constantly, and who navigates the business world as if it’s second nature.

I love my metamour, who is a tiny firebrand, and so supportive, and a genuine hippie, and who laughs and cries with me, and who rolls her eyes with me as we poke fun at our partner’s idiosyncrasies.

I love my stranded-in-Montana, brilliant, burly, bearded long distance lover whose life has been a whirlwind of experiences and exploration. I can listen to him recount tales for hours about working in metal shops, pulling pranks on friends, dressing up as Pam Poovey for Halloween, and the latest skill or recipe he’s learned from YouTube.

I have a crush on a guy who’s in a band, is refreshingly straight-forward, does fantastic photography, is politically motivated, is old school punk and who is also engaged to the sweetest, most purely loving woman I’ve ever met.

I adore that purely loving little goth woman, whose heart is as big as her black wardrobe, and who just wants to love and be loved, and who is both so young and so old at the same time and who has quickly become one of my greatest friends.

I adore a man in Chicago with the worst case of impostor syndrome I’ve ever encountered, but who continues on, day after day, pulling off technical and artistic feats for comedy, theater and other stage productions, even as his mind tells him he’s a failure.

I have a massive crush on a guy who works in a metal shop as a day job, and does burlesque, sideshows, sound work, has a bookshelf that gives me a lady boner, and is learning how to be comfortable expressing anything beyond platonic interest due to years of suppressing it for fear of making his fellow burlesque performers uncomfortable.

I have a massive crush on a guy who is an artisan, and makes a living at various renaissance festivals, whose laugh vibrates my bones, and whose wink shoots electricity up my spine and who reminds me of some sort of merry old Norse god who just wants to tickle maidens and eat and drink to contentedness.

I’m *better* for having met all of these people. And in a world that seems increasingly divided and cold, I refuse to succumb to the fear of connection.

What exactly is everyone so afraid of?