Tenderness

I can’t survive without the other, neither can I survive for the other. Is being born being alone? Is living being with others? Which is the precise distance that allows us to dance the dance of life?  

From the moment we are born, the question about the correct distance exists. We leave the uterus, where the umbilical cord provided us with the prefect distance, almost nirvanic: we were at the same time ourselves, my unique and special I (yes, it’s true, in fetal status) and at the same time the universe embraced me, fed me, protected me. But, from the moment of birth, the choreography between me and the other becomes complicated: I immediately want my mother’s breast, the embrace of my caretaker to be present. Once my hunger has been satiated, I immediately want to be left alone, in my own reverie.   

Which is the choreography that embraces us both, that allows me and the other to live, at the same time?   

The adult version of the umbilical cord is tenderness.

The word tenderness comes from the words extend, stretch, reach. 

The optimal distance is the one that allows one to dance the biblical aphorism: If I am not for myself, who is for me? If I am only for myself, what am I? Extend, stretch, stretch out to convey tenderness.

It’s about learning to create bonds that stretch and shorten, in the exact measure that allows, in every circumstance, to give and receive the precise embrace, the one that supports me in the place of mutual respect, without invading or abandoning.