Recently I have become partial to a glass (or two) of wine. Not white, not red, but somewhere in the middle, chilled to a desired degree and of a specific vine. Now those of you who know me well, will agree that this is an astounding achievement. Nigh on teetotal, the “cheap date” cliche has forever been my most well-received party trick. However, with nagging nerves and stress levels hitting unprecedented highs, it was clear that something had to be called in. Something stronger than an insipid camomile tea or a gallon of Rescue Remedy. And with the glistening bottle in easy reach (plus more mellow, fruity vibes chilling in reserve), it’s no wonder the last few weeks have born witness to a remarkable transformation in me.
A little bit of what you fancy can’t hurt, right?
And the other half can’t help but agree. He’s not complaining. On the contrary, so delighted is he by all the favourable outcomes that can be attributed to the newly discovered past-time of his newly liberated wife, that he’s positively encouraging it. Forget the calories and tomorrow’s sore head love. This most coveted of nightly treats has done an incredibly gratifying job. Smoothing out the rougher edges of life and making things, shall we say, rather more bearable. And blurry. Or just blurable. Thankfully my wannabe indulgent “self” does have a fully functioning and undeniably demure STOP button. So we’re not at “alchie” stage just yet. But the fact remains that this recently acquired, rosy tint on life has made me think.
A little bit of what you fancy might even be good for you.
Now clearly this idea extends far beyond instant gratifications and disposable pleasures. A couple of units of the pink stuff doesn’t come close to penetrating at the deepest of levels. But what is trending here is a newfound thirst for self-fulfilment, self-discovery and by default, self-help. And it’s catching. Just like a smile or an acknowledgment from a stranger can be. Needless to say, when I suggested to my other half that he would benefit from his own voyage of self-discovery, with a bit of what he fancied, he jumped at the chance. The only conditions were: Destination: Morzine. Small print: alone, with the mountains, snow and fresh air for company. A rare opportunity to escape the four walls, flying high in his own space. Solo. It’s an attractive offer, right boys?
In reality, it’s no surprise that he’s not found the courage to book this soul-searching ski trip for one yet. Because it does take courage to remove ourselves from what we’re so rigidly accustomed to day in day out, year on year, and do something selfish. If it’s not money, it’s responsibilities. If it’s not responsibilities, it’s guilt. If it’s not guilt, it’s a dodgy knee. The excuses abound. But the point we’re missing, is that a little bit of what you fancy, really is good for the soul. I’m not actually referring to the said glass of wine, a square of chocolate, a sexy new porsche or a Marc Jacobs soft-grained leather clutch. I’m talking about doing a little bit of what we love from time to time. Seeking out those small nuggets of inner-nourishment and self-cultivation that we so easily neglect as parents, but that sustain our individuality. Rubbing in some of that essential oil that massages our souls, making us who we need to be in order to look after ourselves. Downing a dose of that spiritual penicillin that boosts our mind and body, in turn enabling us to look after those around us better.
In short, I’m thinking that a little bit of what we fancy is a bloody good idea if it helps to sustain us. Locking the door and stealing an hour with a good book, disappearing for the weekend to catch up with old friends, losing yourself for a day in museums and galleries or just living it up on a wild night out. Whatever. As long as we do it. From time to time. And all in moderation. Of course.
It’s a subtle reorientation of the psyche.
Nothing earth-shattering is going to change.
And I’m still a light-weight when it comes to booze – so don’t panic darling, I’ll always be the cheapest date you’ll ever meet.