When pleasure needs a business case

Unbraced Woman
Jul 5
5 min read

Updated: Jul 6

When was the last time you did something with no goal, no outcome, and no measurable benefit?

Something that didn't support your career, improve your health, develop your character, expand your knowledge, or help you become a better version of yourself. Something you did simply because it felt enjoyable. Something you would have done even if nobody ever found out about it.

When was the last time you played?

Not in the performative adult sense of the word. Not a hobby that could become a side business, a workout disguised as leisure, or a holiday carefully optimised for personal growth. I mean the kind of play that children understand instinctively: doing something because the experience itself is enough.

At some point, many of us stop doing that.

It usually isn't our conscious decision, but the world rewards outcomes, so we learn to focus on results, achievements, milestones, and self-improvement. We learn that our time should be used wisely, efficiently. We should be productive and intentional.

And somewhere in the process, we quietly begin to justify everything we do. I recognised this pattern in myself years ago, although I didn't have a name for it at the time. My schedule was full of things that looked enjoyable from the outside, yet almost everything carried a hidden purpose. If I exercised, it was supporting my health. If I travelled, it was expanding my horizons. If I danced, it was helping me reconnect with my femininity or become more embodied. If I read a book, it needed to teach me something useful, challenge my thinking, or give me a perspective worth sharing later.

I told myself this was balance, but the moment I write "balance", my entire body disagrees.

Balance was never really the objective. Improvement was.

There was always another insight to gain, another weakness to address, another layer of myself to understand, another experience to collect. The underlying assumption was rarely that I was already enough. The assumption was that there was always a better version of me waiting somewhere ahead, and my job was to keep moving towards her.

The irony is that many of these pursuits were genuinely enriching as I learned a great deal, enjoyed much of the process, and wouldn't undo any of it. But looking back, I can also see how often the experience itself became secondary to what it might eventually produce. I remember a conversation with my mentor, Maya Ori, that made me pause. She asked whether I ever went for massages. "Of course!" I replied, "regularly!" And her next question was simple: "But what kind?" Then I realised I couldn't remember the last time I had booked a massage simply because it felt pleasant. There was always a purpose and always something to achieve. Lots of therapeutic massages, physiotherapy treatments, fascia work, lymphatic drainage, and anything else that promised to fix something in my body. I was proud that I was taking care of myself, but even relaxation had quietly become another project.

Another example is reading.

For years, my books had to justify the time I spent with them. Even after I left my self-development phase behind and gravitated towards reportage, history, and long form non-fiction, there was usually this unspoken expectation that the book should give me something I could carry away. Maybe a new perspective, an interesting fact, or even a conversation starter for a dinner party. Something that would make me more informed, more cultured, more prepared for a future.

And the truth is, most of those books were absolutely worth reading. But that is precisely the point, as even the most beautifully written book was often approached by me through the lens of what it could add to my life rather than how it might move me while I was reading it. If I happened to be captivated by the story, deeply touched, or completely absorbed in the experience, that was a welcome bonus. The primary objective was usually somewhere else. To learn something, know something, or even to become someone who could later say: "did you know that...?"

Perhaps you recognise some version of this in your own life.

Perhaps it shows up in the books you choose, the podcasts you listen to, the places you travel to, or even the hobbies you pursue. And of course there is nothing wrong with learning, growing, or expanding your horizons, but it's not ideal if experience itself always quietly slips into second place. If the enjoyment has become conditional on there being something useful at the end.

When was the last time you read a novel simply because the cover looked beautiful? Watched a movie without checking IMDb rating or asking others for an opinion? Walked without tracking the distance? Took a photograph without thinking about whether it was worth posting? Chose a destination because it fascinated you rather than because it would make a good story later?

The modern world rewards optimisation. We are encouraged to extract value from everything: our books, our workouts, our holidays, our friendships, even from sex or rest. Every experience is expected to teach us something, improve us in some way, or produce a measurable outcome. And there is no finish line.

But would you still want to do it, if nobody ever found out?

Would you still take the trip if there were no photos? Read the book if you could never mention it in conversation? Climb the mountain if there were no record of reaching the summit?

Haruki Murakami once wrote that long-distance running is often repetitive, uncomfortable, and far from glamorous, yet he continues to do it because there is value in the experience itself. Not every worthwhile thing has to be enjoyable every second, but there is a difference between being present for an experience and constantly converting it into proof of something.

I am not suggesting that we stop achieving, learning, travelling, or setting goals.

I am simply wondering whether some of us have become so focused on what an experience will give us that we occasionally forget to ask what it feels like to be there while it is happening.

Perhaps that is the question worth carrying with us. Not whether an experience is useful, productive, educational, or even transformative, but whether we are allowing ourselves to fully live it while it is happening. Experiences were never meant to become evidence of a life well lived. They were meant to be the life itself. And maybe many of us would benefit from spending a little less time perfecting, optimising, and extracting value from our lives, and a little more time simply living them. The souvenir magnet collection on your fridge may genuinely hold precious memories.

Or it may be serving a different purpose.

Only you know which one ♥

When pleasure needs a business case

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