The Aesthetics of Gentleness

Seeing the good and naming it good ("I have nothing to wear" Continued)

Well, we are back from our cruise, and it seems that something has fundamentally shifted. My obsession with what I'm wearing has always kept me caught up in a spiral of anxiety about fitting in, looking right, but this trip something was different. This trip I decided to conduct an experiment of sorts —not a scientific one, but a deeply personal investigation into what would happen if I were, in the spirit of gentleness/humility, to begin to look outward rather than inward. Clothing has always been my armor, my way of controlling how the world perceives me. But this trip I asked the question, what if my armor is actually what's imprisoning me?

So, this cruise, I made a radically different choice. Instead of meticulously curating my appearance, I tried to truly notice other people. Not in that performative way we often do, scanning for comparison or judgment, but really seeing them. And as I did, every person became a story, every outfit a narrative.

I spent every day of the trip giving genuine compliments. Not the hollow social currency we're used to, but real observations that I felt could momentarily lift someone's spirit, brighten their day. A young woman wearing a simple outfit who seemed to be vibrating with an inner joy that no designer label could manufacture was my first attempt. After standing beside her watching as we pulled out of port, I turned to her and told her she won best-dressed on the ship, and I watched something beautiful happen: she was seen.

See the good and name it good.

And then, almost as a counterpoint to this encounter, another observation emerged. In a moment of pure social anthropology, I found myself dancing alone in a crowded space, music no one else could hear filling my ears. Thirty seconds of movement, then a full-bodied surrender to the rhythm - and nobody saw me. Not a glance, not a shift. We've become so practiced in our collective unseeing, so adept at moving through crowds like ghosts, that human presence has become a kind of transparent cocoon of self-preservation, hasn’t it? Our invisibility isn't a lack of being, but a profound commentary on connection in an age of digital proximity and emotional distance.

The irony of all this wasn't lost on me. By completely abandoning my self-obsession, I became more authentically present than I'd ever been. Isn't that always the way? The moment you stop performing is when you really connect. Michael even joined in. His wit became a kind of gentle social lubrication, making strangers smile, making connections that transcend the usual transactional cruise ship interactions, and brining total strangers, and ourselves, a moment of joy.

Just a thought from someone who's learning, slowly, that gentleness might be the most radical form of rebellion in a world that constantly demands we prove our worth.