In which we talk about your word

Goodness me, but the blogosphere seems to have erupted in a hate-fest towards Eat Pray Love, hasn't it? (Honestly, the writing was on the wall as soon as it became an Oprah pick. Something about that level of success just triggers the feeding frenzy.) Anyway, I read the book when it first came out--a few months before it became THE book--and it's the only time in my life I have ever been ahead of the curve. And because I loathe the snapping of teeth at the first sign of blood in the water, I want to talk about what I liked.

My favorite passage in the book is when Elizabeth Gilbert talks about her word--the single word that is supposed to sum her up, to encapsulate everything she is and wants to be. Simplicity is always more difficult than elaboration. Condensing the essence of who you are down to a single word is a dangerous thing. There is so much you might accidentally omit, so many words that are almost-but-not-quite-right.

My agent and I were discussing this a few weeks ago over a lovely dinner. There was wine, there was superb food, there was excellent company. (I have mentioned before that I am extremely fond of my agent.) And that moment was a perfect example of my word: pleasure. An author-agent meal has the potential to be stuffy and awkward. My time with my own agent is never either of those things because my agent is a fabulous person with a very peaceful and nurturing way about her. (If I were to get all metaphysical, I would tell you that she has very grounded energy.) She is a very savvy businesswoman, but she is also kind, and it was as much for the kindness as anything else that I wanted her to represent me. I wanted someone I could actually enjoy spending time with as well as work with. The agent-author relationship is an intimate one. She sees the insecurities and difficulties that no one else in my professional life will ever see.

So I chose a person I felt instinctively would be pleasant to be around. That's my formula for just about every decision I make. What will make me happy? What choice will bring me pleasure? Those are questions Epicurus used to ask, and he was soundly criticized for frivolity and for the notion that life philosophy oughtn't be allowed to descend to hedonism. But what his critics failed to note was that there was a strongly moral streak to this philosophy. Epicurus operated from the standpoint that one could not be truly happy in inflicting pain in another. In order to take real pleasure, one had to be acting graciously. That ought to be reassuring to the Puritanical streak we Americans seem to carry. We view the concept of pleasure with suspicion--to our detriment. And why? Life is either far too long or far too short to be unhappy. Why shouldn't every decision we make be done with an eye to pleasing us? From the color of our towels to our next meal to our jobs, what precisely is wrong with pleasure guiding us?

And no, I'm not advocating eating and drinking and sleeping with whatever you please and throwing off your jobs and mortgages and responsibilities to lie around like bonobos. I firmly believe that the highest pleasures come from doing what you like in a way that is moral and gracious, both towards yourself and other people. Take eating, for instance. If I ate everything that was delicious and fattening, I would have momentary pleasure and endless regret. I would be overweight and in poor health and miserable. But if I eat something that is delicious but lighter, I can enjoy myself both in the moment and for the long term. And then my occasional grilled cheeseburger with fries or chocolate-ganache-drenched cupcake is a splurge to be savored instead of an everyday occurrence to be despised. (Actually, overindulgence was specifically counseled against by Epicurus. He maintained that the ultimate state of being was ataraxia, a sort of peacefulness that comes when one is free of fear, which sounds like as good a place as any to aim your life.)

So, my word is pleasure. What's yours?