Tender is the Plight

In order to navigate the realm of responsibility that often widens as we grow older, most adults make use of a set of coping skills that include concealment of our tender feelings. In 80% of the circumstances that arise during a typical day, this skill serves me well. It is not appropriate to unload onto co-workers or casual acquaintances the concerns I may have about family, health, or finances. Ordinarily, my feelings about the way that someone communicates (or doesn't communicate) with me, one of the passing and minor frustrations of the workplace, usually are best unspoken. Perhaps in taking this approach I am seeking to adapt to the stoic mode of the midwestern society that I have recently rejoined after 25 years on the more expressive East Coast. Garrison Keillor has repeatedly made me laugh with tickled recognition by lampooning the patient impassivity of the Minnesota Lutherans, and the Michigan Methodists are not far behind them.

But this week tender feelings breaking the surface have characterized a series of encounters that remind me that it is always the better course to be patient and tolerant with other people, including ourselves, out of respect for the valiant struggle that lies just below the surface of many lives.

Yesterday I told a woman of my acquaintance that I thought she would benefit from completing her formal education. She had put it on hold in order to take care of her family. As I spoke, my tears welled up and my voice trembled. There was no particular emotional charge that I was aware of before expressing this opinion. I am not a friend of long-standing or particular closeness with this woman. But the poignance of a dream set aside out of love, paired with the sense that great talent was going untended, touched a profound chord in me. I almost felt that it was her emotion that I was experiencing. I did not effuse, but simply stated that I was moved by her condition. Somehow, though, this genuine emotion, spontaneously expressed, was of service to my friend. Seeing the reflection of her own dream in another made the dream's pursuit more compelling to her in that moment.

Yesterday, a new friend spoke in very general terms about the upcoming hospitalization of a family member. I did not know of nor ask to know the details. But in the very sparingness of the dialogue, I sensed an underlying sorrow. I allowed the compassion I felt to shape my tone of voice. "I'll be thinking of her." I intended to express an openness to hearing more but without curiosity. I wonder whether I did.

Yesterday, another friend asked to talk. I said yes, then reneged. The hour was late and my blood sugar low. Later, I felt I had been abrupt, ragged in what I expressed, unfriendly although my true feelings are friendly. She did not voice hurt feelings, but I believe I did hurt her.

So today I am thinking about tender feelings. Passion, sadness, the courage to take a risk. These are the qualities that make human beings beautiful. When I am present to other people, they show me their beauties. The tender places that signal the growing edge of an organism are the places from which new life, new potential, new possibilities emerge. Experiencing the beauties of other people, when they are willing to let a tender place show, is the stepping stone to true friendship. I treasure these deepening moments when our defenses are released because they are not needed. In these moments, in the showing of our beauties, we know love.