Tenderness: Letting the Hours Roll On
02.28.23 | 55105
For reflection:
Who in your life do you find particularly in touch with vulnerability? How might you emulate them?
What places in your life inspire tenderness in you? How might you ground yourself in them?
What practices in your life help you cultivate tenderness? How might you dedicate more time to them?
Looking back at the month, in what ways do the people, places, and practices in your life make you more willing to be vulnerable? Is there anything you want to change or focus on more deeply to cultivate tenderness in your life?
In considering tenderness this month, I found myself reflecting on my childhood… more than normal, let’s say. Many of my journal entries called up stories from my younger years, especially when I considered the places that have held me in moments of tenderness. Today, I’m hoping to build on my past, informing my present and future experiences of the tender moments along the way.
Feb 16, 2023
“Describe the experience of being home alone, both in your childhood and in adulthood. Has the experience changed at all?”
When I wrote this question at the end of January, preparing for a month on tenderness, I did not anticipate the breadth of memories that would come as a result. My journal entry from February 16th tells of the fear I felt the first few times of being alone: I remembered that tornado night, when my parents were out of town with my brother and I sat alone, in the basement, as far away from the windows as I could get. I felt the fear rise up in me again, as I recalled the uncertainty of that moment.
And, concurrently, I remembered sweet moments. I reminisced about winter days spent reading the stacks of books I would check out from the library (yes, I was one of those kids). I reflected on the hours and hours I spent doing 1000-piece nature scene puzzles at the dining room table (winter paths or autumn leaves or spring gardens, anyone?). I smiled thinking about the time I baked a cake as a surprise for my parents’ anniversary, and they scolded me for using the oven in the same breath as expressing their gratitude for my enthusiasm.
There are sweet moments like these in my life today, too. But something has happened in the last few years, as I have become more accustomed to being alone. In leaving for college, studying in Peru, renting my first apartment, and getting my first “big girl” job, I have become more and more independent. And more often now, those sweet moments are sandwiched between time spent doing something (anything) “productive.” There is always a never-ending to-do list, and the tender moments never feel quite so tender.
This month, I have wondered: what would it mean to allow the hours to roll on? What would it mean to let the creativity flow, unconcerned with my own self-imposed deadlines? What would happen if I allowed date nights to be spontaneous, rather than planned amidst the chaos of the week? What would it mean to prioritize the tender moments? What would bloom as a result?
Truthfully, I don’t think it has ever been in my character to prioritize time spent resting. But this month, almost unknowingly, I have been choosing to give myself more space and more grace. I have woken up in the morning and allowed myself to sleep for another hour, even when I had planned to get up and start my day early. I have changed my workout plans in the moment numerous times, choosing instead to do gentle stretching and mobility work instead of physically taxing HIIT and strength workouts. I have spent more time with friends and family than is normal for me - knowing that those moments will be some of my favorite memories at some point in the future.
And what has bloomed as a result? Gentleness. Community. Contentment. And, perhaps more than anything else - an appreciation for the listening that comes with a lack of producing. In my rest, I have become ever-grateful for the wisdom of others and for the beauty of the present moment. Whether that present moment comes in the form of an audience’s applause or the gentle simmer of tonight’s dinner on the stove, each and every minute is a gift. And I have been reminded this month to cherish them.
I would love to hear: what has bloomed for you, in prioritizing tenderness? Perhaps your experience has been similar to mine, and perhaps it has been different. Either way, I hope it has been revelatory.
Until next time, friends.