You’re reading Softening Time, a newsletter on practice, learning and small transformations. Annual subscriptions are 20% off this month as I share peeks into my collection of poetry; all proceeds are donated to causes related to feeding and educating women and children.
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Our first meeting two decades ago consists of you seated at the end of your dining room table, surrounded by books on homeopathy, beaming a smile that means instant friendship for me. Your smile is actually the most enchanting, magnetic symbol of freedom I’ve seen in real life to date.
This is a happy human, I remember thinking. Precious little must be on your mind outside of doing what you love.
Your smile that day has saved me from choosing what doesn’t belong with me, countless times over the last twenty years, reminding me.
Only do what has meaning.
Our shared studentship, dance floors, steam rooms, car rides, adventures, all of it a potent cocktail of oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin even during the worst of the ensuing heartaches. On the best of days, we pair up to offer a series of glorious retreats, as well as one of the first classes at the first-ever yoga and music festival. Years later you’ll come with your truck to pack me up from a breakup like a total professional.
When you tell me you’d met the father of your children, I remember listening to you while walking on the Bowery in front of the shops that were all full of lights back then. These are all good reasons to call you my wife even when we’re both partnered up with our wonderful husband-humans; today’s piece is my homage to your courage, your willingness, your softening. Also I don’t think i’m ever growing my hair again.
May 2023, above; circa 2018/19 below.
softening time
Sky full of clouds, pensive piano notes in my ears, about fifteen minutes from home with all the groceries. You call me with gravity in your voice, which is rare. I pull over instantly.
Yes, cancer. Yes, surgery, yes, chemo, yes, radiation.
Yes. My best friend.
Yes, healing.
We’re holding one another from two thousand miles away, hugging over FaceTime, struggling to find the words. When I finally find mine, I tell you I’ll shave my head when you do. Together we’ve lived in the same house, studied, played, traveled, had our hearts broken, gotten married, had babies. You’re clearly ready to take on the true healing, though, and that’s what this conversation reveals.
The softening.
Strangely, your softening becomes my own; I can still see how I allow agitation to seep into my day, hurling me quietly into anxious reactivity. Over months, I watch from a distance as you become more vulnerable, less afraid. I feel you shift and am moved to ease up on myself, to drive more slowly, to listen for the holiness in the voices of those closest to me. It’s still happening.
When we finally shave our heads, I worry the new look might change me, harden my heart somehow; instead I find myself with more time and space to think and feel, to rest and be, as though I can take myself less seriously. Somehow more intentionality is accessible without all that hair, that whole personality. And I can hear the forest outside differently.
Witnessing the most fearsome possibility has raised us up, brought us closer to ourselves and to our own trust. This surprising, stunning chapter is still open for both of us.
May 2023.
Thank you for reading the title poem from my first collection, Softening Time. Wifey Christy is clear for two years now, teaching and thriving with her family in North Carolina. Study and follow along with her beautiful family here.
Share a few words about favorite human(s) who save you if you wish; honored to keep reading and responding to your heartfelt comments.
And a Gift
If you’d like to offer a review of Softening Time on your favorite book platform, copy and paste your words in the comments below to be entered to win a signed copy of the book. I’ll send it to you myself.
I have a few friends that I’m sure were sent from heaven, but there is one, her name: Karina and we all call her “Ka”. She has been with me all the way… More surgeries that I can count, hardships, breakup, depression, laughter, kids, tears and trips. She never judges me, she listens to me with her beautiful and huge heart, she simply loves me as I am, just like that… as I called her my sister from another mother, for me she is family, the family that doesn’t have same last name or blood line, but “heart family”, the ones that you decide to love with out any strings attached. And also there are friends that I haven’t met, but had taught me about love, presence, compassion and vulnerability… you Elena, are one of those. I love you ❤️
That’s magical perhaps it’s the gift of femininity the competition among males often precludes such intimacy. Heart rendering indeed.