Holding the Tension

For most of my adult life, I’ve lived like a pendulum. Not chaotically, but immersively. When something captured my interest, I didn’t dabble. I went all in.

Triathlon. Ranching. Motorcycles. Fashion. Fitness. Writing.

Each season of my life, I entered fully.

Looking back, it can look like reinvention. What it really was, was exploration. The pendulum had to travel to the farthest edges before it could find the middle. Sometimes the only way to understand yourself is to live enough to meet all the versions of you.

Now, the pendulum is slowing down.

Not stopped.

Settling.

A few weeks ago, I decided to get back into motorcycles. Not as some big life statement, but simply because it has always been a part of me.

Before the bike even arrived, I found myself doing something unexpected.

I was in the garage pulling out boots, helmets, and gloves. Wiping down leather jackets and riding gear. Making space for the bike before the bike was even there.

It felt familiar.

Like an older version of me had quietly stepped back into the room.

Something was different this time.

It didn’t take over.

This past week I spent time in the garage dressed in work clothes—comfortable and practical. The kind of clothes you wear when you’re organizing tools, wiping down leather, sweeping the floor, and putting things back in order.

Then I took the new bike out for a short ride.

Later that afternoon I came home, showered, put on a little makeup, threw on something that made me feel good in my body, and went out shopping with my wife.

The same day held both things.

Nothing about it felt contradictory.

For the first time, it felt natural.

For a long time I thought I was required to choose a side.

Masculine or feminine.

Strength or beauty.

Power or softness.

Work or expression.

What I’ve discovered is something different.

Integration doesn’t erase tension.

It holds it.

I can spend the morning cleaning the garage and the afternoon picking out makeup.

I can mow the yard and later feel attractive in my own skin.

I can ride a powerful sport bike and then walk into a chic boutique the next morning to go to work.

None of it cancels the other out.

It’s all me.

What makes it even more interesting is that this isn’t something I planned.

It’s something I noticed.

My mother, who has spent years helping people understand themselves, says that noticing is where everything begins.

She’s right.

I started noticing the different parts of me that show up.

The part that feels alive on a motorcycle.

The part that loves style.

The part that wants to feel strong.

The part that wants to look beautiful.

The part that enjoys leading at work.

The part that wants to sit back and listen to Metal. Or Mozart.

None of those parts are enemies anymore.

They’re just different rooms in the same house.

For a long time the pendulum did have to swing wide. I had to experience the edges to understand what lived there.

Now something else seems to be happening.

Not reinvention.

Not settling.

Not choosing sides.

Something closer to holding the tension between them.

Strangely enough, it feels better than any side ever did.

Maybe the goal isn’t choosing who we are.

Maybe the goal is noticing how many parts of us were already there.

Andrea