Come for Peace

December 22 is World Orgasm Day. I’m not making that up—there’s an actual initiative behind it based on the theory that if everyone on the planet came at the same time, we’d all be so relaxed we’d stop threatening each other with nuclear weapons. Or at least think about it less for a day. It’s utopian and stupid in equal measure, which is exactly why I respect it.

Whatever works gets the job done—girlfriend, blow-up doll, stuffed animal, your hand, a sheep, it’s all valid. The method doesn’t matter. The point is the outcome: release, a moment of peace, your nervous system finally quieting down about geopolitics and whether the world is ending.

During the holidays especially, when everything is stress and forced cheer and family obligations, the idea of a mandated collective break to just let go feels almost radical. Not that it would work. People aren’t going to suddenly cooperate because they’re horny, and getting off isn’t a cure for what makes us cruel. But the impulse behind it—the belief that we all need to just come and breathe for a minute—that feels right to me.