Add “seek pleasure” to your to-do list.

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By Ama Kwarteng, Beauty Editor @ Coveteur.

Two tattoos on my body can be attributed to Toni Morrison. The first one is the word ‘Beloved’ and it is etched in cursive above my left ankle, an ode to the novel that opened my eyes to the many worlds language can hold. The second one, the phrase “full reign,” sits near the center of my back, slightly to the left of my spine and it is pulled from Morrison’s second novel, Sula. The full quote refers to the eponymous character:

When COVID-19 shut down New York City, I was healthy and able to work from home yet panic hung thick in the air. The inequities embedded in this country were forced into our direct line of sight. A good night’s sleep slipped out of my reach; I tried to bargain with the virus but my offers fell on deaf ears. I was forced to traverse through darkness in an attempt to locate what was lost.

It was also a moment of respite from my hectic work schedule which overloaded my non-office hours with press breakfasts and launch dinners. There were no more catch-up drinks or nights out. The closure of the world forced me to turn inward, to slow down. It delivered a level of self-intimacy that was unfamiliar. For what felt like the first time in my life, I asked myself how I wanted to spend my time.

And so I lined the rims of my eyes with deep-blue eyeliner. I bought myself bright yellow sunflowers from the deli across the street. I moved into my first solo apartment, a fifth-floor walkup on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, and filled it with vintage furniture. I donated to mutual aid funds and marched in the streets. I read Barrett Swanson, Annie Ernaux, Raven Leilani, and Elizabeth Hardwick. I ended friendships that felt one-sided and nurtured new ones over meals where we discussed reality television, our families, and the short stories we were writing. I meandered through the streets of my neighborhood with no set destination in mind. I ignored trends and wore loud, printed clothing that lit up my senses and overwhelmed me with immense gratification.

I gained a sense of introspection and autonomy over the structure of my days. But when the world slowly opened back up, it felt like I lost control. Or, rather, I put the wants and needs of others before my own, clipping the emotional and creative strides I had made. I said yes to plans I didn’t want to attend. My morning and evening routines dissolved then disintegrated. Joy took a backseat. Anxiety settled in.

It wasn’t until I had a conversation with my therapist that I realized that when we are in the process of creating ourselves, we have to live in the constant present tense; it is necessary to our survival to seek out moments of pleasure in our day. And this pleasure hunt isn’t purely about ourselves; it extends beyond the individual. Calling a friend and telling them you love them or sending them a couple of dollars for coffee just because or volunteering within your community are all formidable forms of self-care.

I want to commit to a daily morning and evening routine. I want to delve deeper into fiction writing. I want to find new ways to commit to political causes that are important to me. I want to spend evenings surrounded by my loved ones and empty glasses of wine. It may seem like a trivial pursuit in the face of peril but engaging with our inner selves more deliberately pushes us to define exactly what we value in a world that, at times, asks way too much of us.

When you fail to seek joy from within and share it with those around you, it manifests as a bubble that isolates and distorts your vision. The past two years have taught me there are experiences and people too precious to be given over to that illusion.