“Just think about the things that make you feel good,” she suggests. “Like taking a bubble bath.” “This isn’t Ms. magazine,” I protest. “Oh,” she says, “you always have to be philosophical.” “Philosophical? We don’t even have a bathtub.”
But she’s right. I have too much to say about feeling bad, about frustration and sadness and hopelessness and pain. And about bogus spiritualism. It’s easy to criticize. It’s safe; glamorous, even. But what about feeling good?
It’s hard to say. Consider making love. Making love to someone used to make me feel good, until I realized that making love with someone made me feel even better, until I finally understood that I wasn’t making love at all, but confusing love with the giving and receiving of pleasure.
