More of this
Dear Crew,
Yesterday at noon, I was on my way to my favorite tree. I wanted to relax there. Do a little painting. Arrange some music. Dance. Just take a nice, leisurely break.
On the way there, I saw a man. He was lying in the shade of a tree, with a laptop next to him. He was hugging himself.
There might have been some kind of instructions on the screen. I don't know.
But I stopped in my tracks. Not because it was spectacular, but because it was so quiet .
And because I thought , " This is the kind of news I want to read."
Not just stories about men who hurt others. Not just stories about men who are loud.
But also the others—the ones that are told far too rarely.
About men who lie down under a tree during their lunch break and hold themselves.
About men dancing to house music on Gärtnerplatz with their children on their shoulders.
About men who cook with love.
About men who stop in their tracks because a giant grasshopper is sitting in their path.
About men who sing silly songs and laugh until they cry.
About men who wait twenty minutes for their boyfriend and say, “Well, I’ll just wait, then.”
That reminds me: I love welcoming men into my spaces. Not because they're men, but because they're people. And because every time, I realize how good it is for us to be in spaces where we don't have to pretend to be anything.
My personal highlight was a yoga class attended by two young men who were friends. It was their first time trying yoga. At the end, I offered them a few options: resting, doing a shoulder bridge, or going into a full wheel pose. I simply said, “Let your bodies decide.”
Around them, a few women moved into the wheel pose—a challenging pose that I haven’t mastered yet. Others stayed in the shoulder bridge. The two young men simply rested. It seemed completely natural. Without comparing themselves to others. Without thinking they had to keep up.
I was standing at the front of the room and thought: This is exactly what freedom feels like. Everyone is listening to their bodies.
Maybe that's exactly what my vision is. Not of masculinity or femininity, but of humanity.
Not to come across as strong or spiritual as possible, but to be authentic.
I’d like to see more stories about people. People who take care of themselves. Who apologize. Who cook. Who cry. Who dance. Who stay curious. Who lie down under a tree and give themselves a hug right in the middle of their lunch break.
Perhaps our world is also shaped by the stories we pass on.
With love and open eyes,
Jeannette
