I’ve been telling myself this for a while: Enjoy what you enjoy. I half knew it was from Woolf, and probably from To the Lighthouse, but I finally took the trouble to look it up.

It’s from the character William Bankes, who has just said, “he attached no importance to changes in fashion. Who could tell what was going to last – in literature or indeed in anything else?” And then:

“‘Let us enjoy what we do enjoy,’ he said.”

I’d thought the words might be from her diaries though, so I perused through there before cracking open TTL.

And this seemed useful for me, and maybe for you:

from Friday, August 6th, 1937

“Will another novel ever swim up? If so, how? The only hint I have towards it is that it’s to be dialogue: and poetry: and prose: all quite distinct. No more long closely written books. Bu I have no impulse; and shall wait; and shan’t mind if the impulse never formulates; though I suspect one of these days I shall get that old rapture. I want to explore a new criticism. One thing I think proved, I shall never write to ‘please,’ to convert; now am entirely and for ever my own mistress.”

I don’t know why but I think those two things are linked, enjoying what you do enjoy, and getting “that old rapture.’” And of course just forever being entirely yourself. Your own mistress, if you will.

So this long weekend, I’m going to enjoy what I enjoy. You know the music I like, you know the wine, you know the books. Cheers, and I hope you find something you enjoy, too.