Maximum Pleasure Guaranteed (?)

This is the title of my latest television obsession, and the phrase has been incessantly buzzing around in my head. What does maximum pleasure guaranteed even mean? Well, I’ve come to the conclusion that for me, it means squeezing out as much delight as possible out of the people around me. That’s right – squeezing delight out of people is my new maximum pleasure. Let me explain:

When I was in my thirties, I believed that a mythical destination called “better off” was in my future. Better off meant having enough money that I wouldn’t worry every time my used-lemon-of-a-Volvo stalled out at a freeway entrance (2001-2003 were notoriously the worst years for this car). Better off meant a creative career that had finally arrived, where I was in the studio system on repeat, moving through TV writers rooms with expertise and hugs. Better off meant happiness replaced struggle and every day was a magical, carefree experience. Yes, better off was the day life would reward me with permanent ease.

Then, my forties arrived. I was sure this decade would bring that relief. I had finally gotten married, owned a house, two doodle dogs and adopted our incredible daughter. All of these things brought immeasurable joy, especially our daughter, but it also changed everything about our marriage. Every ounce of my attention went toward parenting, not just my daughter, but also our two doodles, and taking care of a hundred-year-old house, which felt like a Bill Irwin-esque insatiable cyclops. Meanwhile, my creative pursuits sat quietly on a shelf, in its own kind of Odyssey.

I continued writing, but stopped directing and making art. I had to pivot to make money so I spent years supervising legal secretaries, then became an office administrator for big, global law firms, overseeing facilities, budgets, personnel, and solving everyone else’s emergencies. It was necessary work, but drained the life out of me.

By forty-nine, I was divorced. If thirty-year-old me had seen that version of the future, I would have thought I had completely failed.

When I turned fifty I realized I was allowed to nurture myself again - no, required to nurture myself. My writing picked up. I published essays. I was hired to do a Hollywood rewrite of a feature script. I expanded my creative community and returned to my old friends who somehow had gotten the short shrift during my married years. Those old friends started remarking, “You seem like yourself again,” and “Welcome back!” and “We missed the old Ellen!” That felt good, but it also told me so much about who I had become the decade before.

Around that same time, I met Jon, who is just about the best partner I could have asked for. And trust me, I asked the universe for the best possible partner, because… enough! When you marry someone later in life, you don’t just inherit their farmhouse kitchen table or their signed punk rock posters. You inherit their entire community. Jon came with decades of friendships through coaching softball, mountain and road cycling, comic book store owning, crazy jobs in finance, poker games and music. They all had one thing in common, which was they were people who genuinely showed up for one another. Together we found ourselves surrounded by an abundance of old friends, new friends and friends-of-friends. It was an embarrassment of friends!

We both learned that we had to nurture these friendships. We talked about it and still do. It takes time, and energy, and honestly, sometimes I’d rather stay home and noodle on a screenplay. Or just watch a TV show like Maximum Pleasure Guaranteed. But investing in people has big payoffs.

Last week, my friend Dave had a retirement party and I gave him one of my favorite kinds of presents. I wrote him a parody song. These songs usually get laughs, but what I really love is watching the guest of honor realize someone took the time to make something that could only have been written for them.

I had the lyrics but couldn’t find the right tune. Jon suggested Chapelle Roan’s Pink Pony Club, a song he’s been trying to convince his dad band, Too Loud for Larry, to play (and now they might!) I was able to tweak the lyrics to fit the tune, including one line I was particularly proud of, “third base in the Four Seasons lobby.” Everyone laughed, Dave the hardest, and later he told me it reminded him of the Martin Short documentary, Life is Short, where friends gather around one another through celebrations and unimaginable losses alike.

(Dave, playing guitar at his party)

I watched the film, directed by Lawrence Kasdan and it struck me that people always talk about laughter as medicine. But there needs to be people in the room to laugh with!

This week, one of my oldest New York friends came to Los Angeles with her daughter and stayed with me. Within minutes we fell into that familiar rhythm only decades of friendship can create. We caught each other up on books, movies, parenting, our dogs, our husbands, recipes… and I was reminded that history is one of friendship’s greatest gifts because someone remembers many versions of you, and holds those memories close.

Which brings me back to that misnomer I believed when I was in my thirties. I no longer think happiness arrives when your career is finally successful or your finances are secure, or your life becomes permanently uncomplicated. None of those things ever really stop morphing, careers always have dips, loved ones have health scares, we lose members of our families and other unforeseen mini tragedies happen along the way (like losing a jewelry pouch in Waco, TX, a sentence I never expected to write!!!)

The difference is that now I know that these things are all survivable because I’m surrounded by dear friends, old and new, and we share these things together.

We’ve all heard about the research around isolation, and how it’s becoming one of the greatest threats to our health as we age. Therefore, opposite is also true: meaningful relationships don’t simply make life more enjoyable, they help sustain it.

So with that, I’ve developed a few unofficial rules – take ‘em or leave ‘em – but read ‘em at least:

• Don’t wait for people to call you first.

• Schedule a coffee date with someone you miss.

• Host dinners regularly. They can be pot lucks, take-out dinners, scrambled eggs even… (no judgement).

• Say yes to invitations because someone thought enough of you to include you.

• Bring someone a souvenir from your travels because it reminded you of them.

• Bake someone their favorite cake or cookies for their birthday.

• Text them the article you know they’d appreciate.

• Introduce friends who have never met, not because they’ll necessarily become friends, but because generosity has a ripple effect.

• Write silly parody songs for milestone occasions.

• Fill in the blank here with your favorite thoughtful gesture…

These are not distractions from life. These are life! And to me, this is what maximum pleasure should mean. Building a life so rich and full with generous, joyful connections that when things inevitably do turn sad or sour, you’re surrounded by people who remind you to laugh anyway.

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