The Uses of Tenderness

I like to begin each of my classes with a definition to ensure we are all on the same page. If you search tenderness on the Internet, you will find definitions such as: gentleness and kindness, feelings of deep affection, and sensitivity to pain. Synonyms include care, fondness, warmth, compassion, love.

Last year, I was recovering from the worst breakup of my life. One of the few things I looked forward to was a weekly bike ride in the park with my best friend. I remember one particular evening I couldn’t find parking, so I left my car on the far side of the park and called my friend to meet me halfway.

It’d been a stressful day at work—as I walked to meet my friend, I struggled to keep it together. I could feel the tension in my shoulders, the humid Texas air, the eyes of happy couples walking their dogs nearby. I was already exhausted and we hadn’t even started biking yet. Eventually, I approached a hill and started scaling it. But before I could make any progress, I recognized a familiar face slowly appearing at the top of the hill. My friend—a brown-skinned, eyeglass-wearing, sarcastic, argumentative, comforting presence—was riding a bike in my direction, their feet pedaling slowly with intention.

At the sight of my friend, the tears started flowing. I’d needed to be reminded that there were still people who cared for me, even if they had to ride a rinky-dink City of Houston bike over a hill to reach me.

After hugging my friend, they walked to the top of the hill with me and handed me the bike. “So you can coast down. It looks like you need it,” they’d said. “I’ll meet you on the other side.”

This is the memory that comes to mind when I think of tenderness: the act of being reminded that you are loved, that you are seen, that there are people in your life who will gladly offer a shoulder (or a bike) if it eases you.

It’s lovely to write about pleasant memories, but I want to explore the nuances of being in relation with others. Sometimes you say the wrong thing, make the wrong face, or respond in a way that doesn’t convey tenderness. In this writing prompt, we’ll work together to craft a poem that honors the truth of what it means to be in deep relation with others, in the hope of recovering tenderness.

First, some exercises:

1. Make a list of several moments when you needed tenderness from someone but they didn’t provide it. (Example: You got a great opportunity and when you told someone about it, they didn’t express excitement or support.)

2. Set a timer for five minutes and journal about how you felt in those moments. What emotions came up for you? What did you say to the other person? What did you want to say to them?

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3. Make a list of several moments when you failed to be tender with someone who probably needed it. Be honest!

4. Set a timer for five minutes and journal about how you felt in those moments. What prevented you from being tender?

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Whew. Take a deep breath. Drink some water. Wiggle your arms if you can.

It wasn’t easy to go back to those moments, was it? I’m proud of you. I think it’s crucial for us to be able to understand how we’ve failed each other, so we can do better in the future. That requires us to reflect on the moments we’re not proud of, even though it’s hard. Thank you for being open.

We’re going to set these notes aside, but keep these exercises in mind as you respond to the writing prompt below.

In your poem, try to do the following tasks simultaneously. It’s okay if the stories overlap or if the poem is written in sections. We’re trying to explore the nuances of tenderness here, so give yourself permission to be complicated, messy, and nonlinear. In the middle of all of these emotions is a truth. Find your way there.

• Describe a moment when you failed to be tender with someone who probably needed it.

• Who in your life has shown you tenderness? How did their tenderness impact you?

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If you enjoyed this poetry prompt, don’t miss Ariana’s upcoming Catapult class, which begins this January.

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