Sunday night, just before lights out, my husband asked what I was thinking about.

“Hedonism,” I replied.

This wasn’t a joke. It’s been on my mind lately—not just the pursuit of pleasure, but how we are unintentionally building a life around it. The conversation that followed tugged on something in him that we’ll need to explore more. But for me, this line of thought has been simmering for a while.

Saturday night, we hosted a dinner party. It was lovely: good food, good wine, relaxed conversation. A few of our guests are newly retired. They talked about skiing trips and springtime in Greece and Portugal. It was the kind of evening that affirms everything about the life we’ve built.

The next day, we went to a large gay bear pool party. Our hosts have many friends—big, hairy, muscle bears who all show up in full force. We talked about parties, travel, OnlyFans, adventures, and occasionally, drugs. Everyone seemed well-fed, well-groomed, and fully booked.

My husband and I are affluent. Many of our friends are too. As we plan our retirement, our calendars are already filling with travel, new experiences, and what we broadly call “fun.” We even have a shared planning document—travel tabs, household upgrades, health strategy. There’s even a line item labeled: “Something meaningful or spiritual.”

That one’s never fleshed out.

We both love travel. We love food. We love our life. But I know that is not enough.

When I say I’ve been thinking about hedonism, I don’t mean it as a moral panic or an accusation. It’s a word I’m using to name the quiet gravitational pull of our life—a life that’s full of comfort, beauty, and experience. I see around me a more overt sprint toward indulgence—more parties, more stimulation, more next things. Our version is slower, but it’s still tilted toward pleasure, and I’m starting to wonder what gets left out.

There’s a space in the plan we keep skipping. Not because we don’t care, but because we don’t know how to fill it.

I can already hear my friend C2 saying, “No one feels sorry for you. If being of service is important, then what’s stopping you? If it’s not, then stop whining.”

It’s good advice. It’s also exactly the point. What is stopping me?

Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s inertia. Or maybe pleasure is simply easier to schedule than purpose. Booking flights is straightforward. Volunteering or spiritual inquiry takes something fuzzier—an internal commitment, a willingness to show up for something that doesn’t reward you with points or likes or validation.

I don’t have a grand conclusion. But I know I don’t want to be a cheerful person who left that part blank.

So this is where I’ll start: by naming the blank space. By asking the question out loud. And by staying with it, even if the answer takes a while.