Nurturing Softness: Staying Open-Hearted to Life

Nurturing the inner muse by reveling in the enchanting photography of Misty Pittman: https://instagram.com/misty_pittman/.

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Monday late afternoon, the blues descend. The anger from the previous week that lingered through the weekend fades and reveals a sinking disappointment and heavy sadness. I prefer anger. The lividness fuels action; the sadness slows and paralyzes. The temptation is to indulgently dwell in the sadness, but a promise to be at a party pushes me to rise. I put on red lipstick, pop on an adored glittery bracelet and take off into an evening cooled by the afternoon rain.

Any remaining heaviness dissipates once I arrive to the backyard affair and am warmly greeted by friends. The gathering is of kindred spirits, sipping margaritas and beers in a free-spirited garden. The back porch holds tables overflowing with local deliciousness: hotdogs from a nearby farm, watermelon slices, fresh salads and a platter of homemade oatmeal cookies.

The conversations flow with ease around recent movie releases, podcasts, travels and politics (for once, I’m joyfully with members from my own political tribe). Beneath the melody of conversations is an indie playlist of Glass Animals, Tycho and alt-J.

There are toasts at the end of the evening, celebrating a departing friend as she embarks on her journey to graduate school. Included in this circle of kindhearted people, I feel an overflowing of joy and love. I let the goodness sink in. I revel in it; this summer evening of friends, margaritas and uplifting conversation is a balm to my heart and rejuvenates my soul.

From this space of belonging, I am able to access my softness. I connect back to my own kindness and feel such relief. My fear that I am losing my sweetness dissolves as I welcome this joyful moment. From this softened perspective, I see the past few weeks of difficulty and heartbreak are part of my growing, not my hardening.

The questions that always emerge during times of hardship return to me again: can this wounding open my heart even more to life? Can the difficulty be seen as invitation to expand and not shrink? Can I see people in all their glorious imperfections from a place of understanding and compassion, and not bitterness and judgment?

I intend for the answer to be a wholehearted yes: a yes to embracing the challenges, learning the lessons and remaining open to life; a yes to falling fiercely and beautifully in love again; a yes to recognizing that people’s imperfections are my own and we’re in this life journey together.

Recently, this daily practice of staying soft and remaining open-hearted is a challenge. The hurt seeps out into bitterness; the disappointment reshapes into sarcasm. I fear that my genuine softness is lost to the rough tides of life, but then a beautiful summer evening spent with friends grants access to the compassion dwelling deep within the core of my being.

In all my consuming anger and difficulty, I forgot the simple and magnificent power of genuine laughter and pure-hearted fun. I remember that to stay soft I must take great, gentle care of myself. I nurture my softness by surrounding myself with uplifting people, by taking sacred, steady breaths beneath a night sky. I stay soft by marveling at the universe and returning to the truth of my being, and knowing that all is going to be just fine. 

The Walk After The Rain

Dreams of the future bring me back to the paths of the past. 

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I feel the certainty of my decision. I notice the clarity, the light-heartedness and the determination accompanying the decision. It’s a commitment that liberates. A calling that resonates in the deepest fiber of my being. 

So these days, I’m contemplating the future, strategizing the needed steps to manifest this decision into a full-fledged reality. These thoughts of the future curiously carry me back to the memories of my past. I turn the pages of the past, carefully studying the moments culminating to this dream that sings in my soul as purpose, as my reason for being.

I am led to revisiting the walk after the rain. This is the beginning of the new chapter. I see the lampposts lining the paths of the campus, their golden glow rippling soft light into the mist. I feel beautiful in this memory. I walk slowly, swaying along in a lace dress that reveals sun-kissed shoulders and in boots that click against the rain streaked pavement.

I walk with my first love. He listens to my day’s adventures, exploring a new city that is now his home: a graffiti garden, funky coffee shops, and vintage stores. Two cameo necklaces are treasured finds from the vintage stores and I proudly wear both, an over-the-top fashion decision that tonight feels right.  The cameos watch over my pounding heart, a heart yearning for a subtle sign from this boy that he loves and cares for me.

I silently wish he would reach out and close the distance between us by taking my hand. Instead, the distance is filled with conversation and a shared enchantment for a place of learning illuminated by gold tinted light.

At the time, I believe I delight and see these sights for him. I speak words of support and take the sights in twice because I want to envision a piece of his life I will not be in. I am brilliantly aware of his presence, his movements, his words, his entire being; and simultaneously, incredibly sensitive to my own presence, my own stride, my choice of words and the murmur of unspoken thoughts. I am present and removed; I watch us walk through the mist as a distant observer.

The remembered walk pulls me to the walk that follows a year later. I am alone this time. I retrace the steps of our walk not for the sake of nostalgia, but to reestablish my sense of direction in this sprawling city that is both new and homelike.

Curiosity and spontaneity guide my steps into the academic buildings, secluded courtyards, paths traveled by students now on spring break, leaving an empty campus for me to fully take in and in the company of my thoughts happily explore.

I think of him, naturally, but there is no sadness that comes with the fading photograph of us walking after the rain. Instead of the familiar pang of heartbreak, there is a deep sense of gratitude for his role in my journey. I’m thankful for the evening stroll that left me - not in his arms as I originally thought - but at the beginning of a new chapter. Now I walk alone and brave in my decision to follow a soul calling that all began to whisper my name during that one walk after the rain.