I’m restarting.
I’ve spent months organizing my thoughts, and now I have a roadmap. I know where we’re going and the arc that will unfold. When I started this project, I had no idea how deep the rabbit hole would go. But now? I’m flowing. I’m having fun.
This is the first “lick” in a manifesto-in-motion called How to Eat Ice Cream: The Alchemy of Pleasure. If you want, have a look at my new About page. I’m purposely editing hard, keeping each post as tight as I can. That’s never easy for me. :)
Each lick is a sensual, philosophical essay written from the non-verbal, non-linear world inside my body. Together, they form a new way of thinking about intuition, risk, rebellion, entrepreneurship, flourishing, and becoming. Ice cream is the metaphor that has grounded my entire life, so we’ll use it the way I always have.
The Melt
We are not meant to stay solid.
Ice cream knows this. It holds its shape for a moment — perky and shiny — and then the sun, your mouth, the day takes it. It melts. And what seemed like loss becomes something else: scent, breath, memory.
Solid. Liquid. Gas. Beautiful, irreversible transmutation.
This is not just science. It’s a roadmap.
We live in a culture that rewards control. That celebrates optimization, performance, and perfect posture.
You learn early how to follow the rules, take the notes, check the boxes. You’re praised for being excellent, efficient, self-disciplined. Stoic.
And then you wake up one day and find you’re lost.
Because no one taught you how to listen to your body. No one taught you how to trust what feels good. No one taught you how to let go. To melt.
Following pleasure is not indulgence. It’s rebellion.
It’s not weak. It’s courageous. And it is not easy.
When you follow what feels right, you will get it wrong. You will be misunderstood. You will be ridiculed, called irrational, unhinged, “too much.” Patted on the head for your naiveté. You’ll be told to get back in line.
But I will see you.
I will praise you for stepping into the arena—for melting, for risking, for becoming. I will applaud. I will champion. Because I know what it takes to let go of the script and live from the source of your vitality: the body.
I have lived this every day for most of my life. In spite of the critics. The voices inside my head. The trolls.
Here’s what no one tells you: the people who do everything “right” often burn out hardest. They climb the ladder only to realize it’s leaning on the wrong wall.
Meanwhile, the ones who learn to surf the waves— who let intuition guide them, even when it’s messy—end up in a better place. Not faster. Not safer. Not easier.
But truer.
Their instincts sharpen. Their presence deepens. They move through the world like Jedis. Quiet. Fluid. Unmistakable.
It looks like magic.
But it is earned.
Let this be a permission slip: You are allowed to lose form. You are allowed to be unmade. You are allowed to melt into your next self.
You are not weak.
You are becoming.
This is what the body already knows.
When I look back at the hardest moments in my life—when I thought I had ruined everything—I now see the melt. And I see what came after: a woman who trusted herself more. Who built something better. Who didn’t need to be solid to be strong.
This is not about resilience.
It’s about rebirth.
That’s the alchemy of pleasure: following what feels right—even when you can’t explain it.
With love and lightness,
Jeni
Jeni! I am very much in the "Have I ruined everything?" phase, but hanging on to the hope of it all.
When I was doing my personal 2025 planning, the idea of pleasure kept emerging. On the plane heading to my personal retreat, I was feeling a tad guilty for bailing on work for a few days to escape to Miami, but then I asked myself, what's the point of all of this, if I can't enjoy a few days at the ocean visioning and plotting and creating? As I was journaling my way through the guilt, I wrote "Pleasure is the point" -- and that's become a bit of an informal mantra for my year. I LOVE the framing of pleasure as an act of rebellion that requires courage.