On the practice of softness
Contemplating the ways in which a doctrine of softness can allow us to find rest even in busy, hectic, and high-energy circumstances.
Field Notes on Flourishing is a monthly love letter exploring art, mindfulness, creativity, and the question of flourishing — by Ludi Leiva.
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I am sitting in the Madrid airport, waiting for a connecting flight. I left New York City last night already feeling quite exhausted, and though I managed to sleep a few hours on my flight, it was not much. After my next two-hour flight I am taking a one-hour bus followed by a three-hour train ride. And then I can finally rest. (Or?)
Though I’m taking things slightly to the extreme this month (I’m on a five-week trip moving through nine cities in five countries) I’d venture to say that most of us are living lives that are somehow a lot busier than we would like. Whether it’s work, kids, or just juggling the many responsibilities a life requires, it can be easy to feel black-and-white in our thinking—either we’re in a stressful period or we’re in a restful period. I myself often fall into this type of thinking.
When I’m in a stressful period, it’s easy for rest and self-care to go out the window. My neurodivergence can show up as hyper-focusing on something to the point that time just disappears. If I’m under a lot of stress, I can forget to eat. I go into this intense tunnel-vision mode, and can sometimes stay there a long time, usually until my body finally sounds the alarm bells (a migraine, a fainting spell) to tell me that things aren’t okay. This type of mindset usually goes hand-in-hand with an internal narrative of how busy I am, how little time I have, and how urgent everything around me is. Though this is absolutely how it feels, I’m realizing it’s not always how it actually is.
While I was in New York, I stayed with one of my oldest and best friends. We arrived back in the city the same day—her from a three-week solo trip to Rio de Janeiro and me from two weeks in Spain. This is a friend who I only see twice a year if we’re lucky, and yet each time we meet it’s as if no time at all has passed. We are both going through transitions at the moment: she’s ended a four-year relationship and is starting a new job, and I’ve wrapped up a two-year master’s and am reconfiguring my professional and artistic life. Needless to say, we had a lot of catching up to do. But in addition to many heart-to-hearts over a cup of tea or glass of orange wine, we both spent a lot of time meditating on the idea of softness and its place in challenging or transitional periods of life, such as the ones we both find ourselves in now.
Softness, to me, is a vast word that encompasses so much. In it, we can find concepts like rest, slowness, stillness, ease, contemplation, reflection, acceptance, and so much more. To me, softness looks like taking a moment to unclench my jaw, un-furrow my brow, and relax my shoulders when I realize that my body is tight with tension. It looks like choosing a non-alcoholic beverage that will hydrate and nourish me instead of something that will take some of the edge off but also dehydrate and drain my body of energy. Softness is putting my phone down and going for a walk and touching some trees, or sitting to meditate instead of doom-scrolling or mindlessly devouring reel after reel (or TikTok after TikTok). Softness is moving more slowly and mindfully through my day instead of rushing and the moment-to-moment resistance to going into autopilot mode. It’s choosing non-reactivity when someone is rude to me, re-centering, and letting it slide off me like water off a duck’s back. It’s speaking kindly to myself when self-deprecating thoughts inevitably arise: I am exactly where I need to be in this moment. I am proud of myself.
I’m contemplating the ways in which a doctrine of softness can allow me to find rest even in busy, hectic, and high-energy circumstances, and am approaching each day with curiosity. Today’s going to be a nearly 24-hour non-stop travel day for me, but along the way, I’ve done my best to lean into pauses, embrace slowness, and embody softness. I’ve been staying hydrated and eating wholesome things that will give my body energy, like vegetables, nuts, fruits, and seeds. I’ve been consistently noticing when tension rises up in my body and letting it melt away, again and again and again. I’ve taken time to stretch, to feel the sun on my skin.
As I write, I’m now on a train drifting gingerly through the Slovak countryside. I see outstretched wheat fields, church steeples, lush green trees, and fluffy white clouds. Instead of letting them blur past without noticing, I let my body get soft in my seat and take a moment to really notice and acknowledge the beauty I’m beholding. I’m alive. This is life. Life is happening, right now is my mantra, my silent prayer.
I let my body go soft in my seat and take a moment to really notice and acknowledge the beauty I’m beholding. “I’m alive. This is life. Life is happening, right now” is my mantra, my silent prayer.
Of course, the practice of softness can be applied to almost every part of our lives. I’m also thinking about how it can serve me in my artistic practice and my work, and wondering how these areas of my life would look if I followed ease; if I didn’t force, and didn’t rush. If I stayed present and curious and watched with patience and tenderness as growth and opportunities unfolded in their own time. What would it look like to be deeply attuned to a flower’s blooming? To witness it sprout through the soil, to grow a tiny bit each day, reaching upwards, unfurling its soft, velvety leaves, and finally bursting forth with vibrant color? I want to be a silent, loving observer of my own blooming, to witness with faith, appreciation, and patience instead of control, anxiety, and self-criticism. After all, how would I regard a person who, in witness of a sprouting flower, said you’re not growing right, you’re not blooming fast enough, you’re not big enough, you’re not bright enough?
There’s much more I could say on this topic of softness and I think there are distinctions to be made—softness in the way I envision it has nothing to do with weakness or passivity. Quite the opposite: it is another way of embodying strength; to surrender requires strength. To float on the water and let oneself be moved with the current instead of swimming requires patience and faith. While there are times to actively swim there are also times to gently float. Neither is static, they are both different manifestations of movement and participation in life. Perhaps you could get there faster by swimming, by propelling yourself forward with the strength of reaching arms and kicking legs. But along the way, we are allowed to turn over onto our backs, to feel the cool strength of the water holding our bodies up. We are allowed to let ourselves be carried along as we gaze up at the sky and think: This is life. It is happening right now.
Be well. Be soft, my friends.
Some softness offerings
Here are some check-ins/jumping-off points that have helped me with my practice of softness:
Can my body be softer at this moment?
Do I notice any self-critical rumination in my head? How can I reframe this? How would I express or explain the things I’m feeling (fear, frustration, sadness) to my inner child?
Does my body need nourishment right now? What is a meal or snack that would feel nourishing?
Am I thirsty? Can I practice mindfully hydrating my body? Can I hold the liquid in my mouth and observe it going down my throat and into my belly as I drink? Can I feel myself, my made-of-mostly-water self, come alive a little more with each sip?
Where is there tension in my mind? Can I locate it and then softly release it?
What are some things in my immediate surroundings that I can observe with my senses? What do I smell? What do I see? What can I feel? What do I taste?
What does it look like to pause everything right now and notice only my breath?
If I could embody a cloud, what would that look like? What would it feel like to be one?
Work updates
My MFA thesis work A Home is a Portal is going to be exhibited at an art gallery in Sweden (Körsbärsgården Konsthall on the island of Gotland) starting July 1. More on this show here!
One of the textile prints from this project will also be part of a group exhibition in July at the National Museum of Somalia in Mogadishu, Somalia. It’s the first exhibition of this kind to take place in Somalia since the outbreak of the civil war and the primary focus of the show is to explore the idea of “home” through artworks in photography, installation, sound, and sculpture from both local and international artists. I was very honored to be asked to participate in such a significant event and look forward to sharing photos next month.
It’s pride and I got to collaborate on a few cool things! I was in New York City last week drawing live community portraits with Phillips Auction House. I had a blast and will share more photos and videos on my Instagram in the coming weeks. I also collaborated with Vogue Eyewear and Ruti earlier this month (click links to learn more)!
In case you missed the announcement last month, you can now buy prints and merch from my 2019-2021 archives through my collaboration with Sunshine Shop! 🛍 🛒
Sending you a virtual hug ✨
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