From Strangers to Friends
I carefully watched us dissolve the idea of “strangers”, one bucket-full of oranges at a time.
Nelson was the 65 year-old farm-hand at the coffee finca, who spoke a thick dialect of Spanish. We’d both be up at 6:30am, me for meditation, he for a face rinse at the outdoor basin. We prepped for our different tasks at the same time.
In these small moments of overlap, we’d talk a little. Even though my Spanish is pretty solid, I could barely understand him. As my coffee brewed in the outdoor kitchen, he’d enthusiastically ask how I was. Then point to my steaming brew, touch his nose and say “muy rrrrrriccoooo!”. After a quick snuggle with his cats, he was off with his machete to the steep slopes, me with my cushion to sit.
We got to know each other slowly, even though we slept a few meters away. In the first few days he’d leave us a bucket-full of mandarins by the kitchen door. We noticed his cats were thirsty, so filled up the outdoor basin so they could find water more easily. Another day he brought us a yucca root and slowly gestured how to cook it. We replaced a cracked water jug he used to rinse his face. He gathered limes and left a few on the counter. We brought him cold water in the afternoon heat when he was out in the field.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Slowly dissolving the awkward distance.
The Art of Kin-Making
We were kin-making- us and he, often aided by the more-than-human world. We tended to interact the most when we could talk about animals. It was easy and fun. The strange thing the cats did while I meditated. The two-toned shimmering butterflies drying themselves on the concrete. The trifecta of scary insects in the shower.
Our curious exchanges led to more gestures. More gestures to longer exchanges. The ordinary ways we become woven as kin. At the end of our stay, Nelson (we only knew him by his first) wrote his family name in the dusty window of our jeep. We drove to the airport like that, sad to leave the finca, the cats…him.
How to Befriend Ourselves
How we cease to become strangers? Not only with each other but with ourselves. How do we befriend the parts of us we don’t want to see? The parts that feel like a stranger?
It’s normal to occasionally treat ourselves like a stranger. Over the summer I spent weeks “hovering” (read here), experiencing a deep sense of disconnection while on a beautiful (and connective) family trip. Reckoning with my strange contradiction felt too hard, too big to crack open until I finally extended a tiny gesture of care towards myself. It wasn’t oranges or a yucca root. But some inner spaciousness and curiosity (which I’ve been cultivating for years) that helped me have an honest (and awkward) conversation with some contradictions I held but hadn’t noticed.
Back to work with clients I’m observing all the ways sensitive humans transition from a more relaxed to busier state. There’s a ton of figuring out. Pushing, thinking and planning at full-tilt, even though we promised ourselves that we wouldn’t “start bailing out the ship” before the end of August. With this normal inconsistency, many of us get that niggly feeling that we “should” focus on development or get our teams on track. In the last couple of weeks, I’ve heard folks admit that just thinking about making time for their professional or personal growth brings on a mild panic.
Personal Growth Doesn’t Have to Feel like Work
But what if growth for ourselves doesn’t have to be work? What if it can be as simple as stepping toward a part of us that feels like a stranger? Those parts we’d rather ignore? What if we could simply extend a gesture of curiosity and sit with the truth of what is and just make friends with that.
I’m curious about you…if you could take a step toward a part of you (or a pattern) that feels like a stranger, what might it be?
Your disillusionment?
Your rage with the state of the world? Your role in it?
Your exhaustion with hitting the same roadblocks over and over?
The vulnerability of not knowing or having the answer?
Your tendency to push hard and run over your adrenals for that urgent deadline?
A conflict that feels impossible to resolve?
Your resentment that there’s too much and you chose it anyway?
Be Kind to Yourself (and your contradictions)
Whatever your pattern or experience is, your kindness matters. Your gestures matter.
From my time with Nelson this summer, I learned that it was my willingness to be awkward and return daily offerings. From my time with myself this summer, I learned that it was my willingness to be curious about my uncomfortable contradictions. These small gestures help us navigate the evolution of our leadership, relationships and our bodies of work- and the contradictions that lie in them.
May you know that I’m heartily encouraging your awkward gaze. Your fumbling language. Your capacity to stay in the discomfort of ceasing to be a stranger to yourself and others. May you soften in the process, making friends with your own contradictions and patterns and brilliance as you lead and live. May your curiosity bring ordinary magic. The oranges in buckets. Like language beyond language so you can tend new depths of connection, clarity and creativity in whatever you’re most called to do.
