What If I Need to Do the Soft Thing?

I am in Taos, New Mexico this week, surrounded by mountains, open sky, desert, and the landscape that somehow feels both rugged and gentle at the same time.

And I keep coming back to one question that has popped up in my head over these last few days:

What if I don't need to do the hard thing?

For much of my life, I have celebrated my ability to do hard things.

Push harder.
Climb higher.
Stay longer.
Try again.
Endure.
Prove I can handle it.

And I can.

I already know that.

I know I can survive difficult seasons. I know I can carry heavy things. I know I can push my body, challenge my mind, work through fear, and keep moving when life gets uncomfortable.

I don't need more evidence that I can do hard things.

Maybe the lesson now is learning how to do the soft things.

What if strength isn't always holding on?

What if sometimes strength is opening my hands?

What if courage isn't always pushing through?

What if sometimes courage is allowing myself to feel what I feel without trying to fix it, fight it, or force it into something different?

Maybe I don't need another mountain to conquer.

Maybe I need to sit at the bottom of one and look at it.

Maybe I don't need to push.

Maybe I need to receive.

Maybe I don't need to prove.

Maybe I need to trust.

Maybe I don't need to fight for an answer.

Maybe I need to become quiet enough to hear one.

We live in this culture that celebrates hard.

Hard work. Hard conversations. Hard workouts. Hard choices. Hard roads.

And yes, there are times when life asks us to do incredibly difficult things.

But difficulty isn't automatically an indication that we are doing the right thing.

And ease isn't automatically an indication that we are taking the easy way out.

We are not losers because we choose the softer path.

Soft does not mean weak.

Soft can mean open.

Soft can mean present.

Soft can mean compassionate.

Soft can mean accepting what is instead of exhausting ourselves trying to make it something else.

There is tremendous strength in knowing we could fight and choosing peace.

Knowing we could push and choosing patience.

Knowing we could hold tighter and choosing to loosen our grip.

Knowing we could keep proving ourselves and deciding we have nothing left to prove.

Perhaps there comes a point in our lives when the next level of strength isn't becoming harder.

It is becoming softer.

Soft enough to listen.

Soft enough to forgive.

Soft enough to change our minds.

Soft enough to say, "I don't know."

Soft enough to rest.

Soft enough to receive love.

Soft enough to give love without controlling what happens next.

Soft enough to allow other people to be who they are.

Soft enough to allow ourselves to be who we are.

Standing here in Taos, I am reminded that nature doesn't seem to be trying nearly as hard as we are.

The mountains don't prove they are mountains.

The sky doesn't fight to be the sky.

The river doesn't feel like a failure when it moves around the rock instead of through it.

It finds another way.

Maybe we can too.

I know I can do hard things.

I've proven that.

So perhaps the question for this season of my life isn't:

"Am I strong enough to do the hard thing?"

Perhaps it is:

"Am I strong enough to do the soft thing?"

To soften my grip.

To soften my expectations.

To soften my judgment.

To soften my heart.

To stop believing that everything meaningful must hurt, everything valuable must be earned through struggle, and every mountain placed in front of me must be climbed.

Maybe some mountains are meant to be climbed.

And maybe some are meant to remind us to sit down, look up, and be still.

I already know I can do hard things.

Now I want to discover how strong I can become by being soft.