The gym, which does not refer to itself as a gym but rather as an “active lifestyle destination,” belongs in an architecture and design magazine. With its large windows, sleek lines, soft and warm lighting, and beautiful but impractical couches, you can imagine a feature on its alternative approach to fitness and the experience it is trying to cultivate. Once in class, you’d be forgiven for thinking you’d accidentally stumbled into the club instead: lights are low, multi-colored, flashing; music is electronic and borderline too loud; and your legs are getting tired, but you’re having fun.
After class, you discover that the best thing about the gym might just be its amenities—it does pride itself on its innovative combination of workouts with a “high-end hospitality experience,” after all. The shower is better than that at your own house, the water hot and the pressure high. So are the shampoo and conditioner, and honestly, you coordinated your hair-washing day to take full advantage. Best of all, fresh towels and any toiletry item you might need are provided; no more lugging around your wet towel and an overnight bag as penance for daring to go to the gym before work or some activity.
The gym is not cheap, yet it delivers your endorphins with such convenience and style that it feels excusable. I feel like I’ve discovered the dark side, but instead of fear-based, it’s pleasure-based.
When I read Brave New World years ago, I remember finding it so compelling for this very reason. Even so, reading it at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, it remained very hypothetical. Today, its vision of a society controlled through pleasure and artificially-induced happiness feels closer to reality. I’ve been having this feeling lately, expressed by the character John in Huxley’s novel: “nothing costs enough here.”
At its core, my feeling is not about too-nice gyms or anyone who chooses to frequent them (I will probably go back). It’s a broader sentiment of my concerns for what my life could become in a context of increasing personal stability, especially in our world of injustices and anxieties.
In the last few years, I’ve navigated complex immigration processes to live across the world, shared homes with two different groups of people who I met on Facebook, conducted job interviews in French, and signed myself up for new and intimidating things like drawing studios, the post calvin, and therapy. I’ve been lucky to feel increasingly settled in the last six months in particular, with a work permit and a good routine and established relationships. However, while my job is good, my growing competency is resulting in growing responsibility, and it’s easy to give more and more of myself over to it. I quit a few activities that I enjoyed because I couldn’t manage them alongside work. Now, in trying to re-establish a balance in my life, I find myself in a strange new set of circumstances.
I have more free time without the commitments of my previous hobbies. Simultaneously, with a regular salary, convenience and instant gratification suddenly become a lot more accessible. It’s possible to go to the fancy gym without premeditation and feel great afterwards, or order takeaway instead of always cooking at home—perhaps not often, but with regularity. As my job grows more challenging, I can sequester this difficulty to set hours and seek maximum fun or distraction or relaxation outside of them. I can create this binary life, scooping myself out for my career and self-soothing outside of it to avoid the created hollowness.
On the flipside, I could create some artificial difficulty in my daily life. My housemate’s smartphone-less existence is a particular temptation. Wouldn’t it be satisfying to go without a phone in 2025? If I’m honest with myself, the draw of such a practice is mostly my own pride and an inherited leaning towards a puritanical self-denial. Further, in a world with so many real issues, I fear it would be an exercise in vanity and self-delusion to turn all of my efforts inward and act as if this leads to any virtue.
All of that to say, time and money and energy are important resources, and it is a privilege to have all three of them. As I reflect on what to do with them, I am reminded that I need not only leisure but, as John puts it, “something with tears.”
Rylan Shewmaker (‘21) calls herself a geographer, though none of her degrees substantiate this. After growing up in Texas and studying in Grand Rapids, she moved to Brussels, Belgium, for her master’s degree in urban studies. She still lives in Brussels and works for a housing non-profit. She enjoys audiobooks, bike commuting, sunny days, and learning new things.
