We are the result of a widening process. When a person becomes pregnant, the body begins to widen and change to make space for life to grow. The pelvis begins a quiet, almost imperceptible dance: bones soften, guided by the hormone relaxin, which loosens ligaments to allow the once-rigid structures to yield. The hips widen, creating a cradle of bone to hold the weight of new life. The skin, too, stretches and embraces its new form, marking time with tender curves. Therefore, as Abigail Rose Clarke says in her book Returning Home to Our Bodies—a book that is becoming a guiding light for me these days—growth is a widening practice.
Once out of the womb, we are also made mostly of space. Within us, explains Rose Clarke, there is a network of spaces in the body called the interstitium. This network lies in the spaces between cells, tissues, and organs, acting as a sort of "highway" for fluids to move through the body. These spaces aren't empty, of course—they're filled with fluid and supported by a mesh of connective tissue—but they do represent the idea that our bodies are not solid masses. Instead, they are filled with dynamic, flexible structures that allow for movement and fluid exchange, embodying the concept of internal spaciousness.
At the core of some of the systemic issues we face today, there is a pervasive desire to remain stagnant, to hold on tightly to what we know, and to remain small. A tree that is given the space to grow widens with the years, healthily making its way through life. On the contrary, a tree whose growth is limited remains small, stunted in its development.
There is a collective fear of widening, perhaps, and it shows most obviously with our political "leaders" (quotes intended). When politicians hold a tight grip on the status quo or when dictators cling desperately to power, life cannot thrive. This creates fertile ground for war and destruction. I am reminded of the infamous phrase by Mark Fisher that it is easier to accept the end of the world than the end of capitalism. I feel that what we are calling late-stage capitalism is essentially a process of gripping—a place where so many choose to remain blinded by the destruction caused by present paradigms and refuse to create space for new things to grow.
The body and nature constantly show us that widening is a necessary process for growth, but they also continually remind us that this process requires humility. For example, rivers widen as they approach the ocean, forming deltas from accumulated sediment. This process is natural and necessary, creating fertile land and diverse ecosystems. However, excessive sediment or human interference can cause flooding or loss of land, disrupting the delicate balance. When we breathe, our body knows when to stop making space, and comes back to its natural form, imagine what would happen if it didn’t stop widening.
Nature shows us that widening must be humble and temporary. A widening that keeps expanding unchecked turns into greed. A society that is obsessed with perpetual growth is unsustainable. We are witnessing the consequences of this as we experience some of the worst climate disasters caused by unchecked greed. I suggest, therefore, that we think of growth as evolution—a process that requires rising and converging, widening and coming together.
It is no coincidence that we often speak of needing to make "room for growth." This phrase carries a certain humility, a sense of ease and calm—a waiting, a patient holding of space, rather than constantly reaching for something. Because growing also takes patience, and a willingness to allow time for change to unfold.
The possibility of growth and transformation must be permanently embedded in our language and minds, especially in the face of obstacles. I don’t mean economic growth, which is how capitalist thinking has taught us to measure growth. I mean a growth that is rooted in humility—a growth that is accepting of change, of impermanence. That type of growth requires space.
The word "wide" comes from wid, meaning "distended, expanded, spread apart." When we delve further into its roots, we encounter its meaning as a sense of "embracing many subjects." As a second element in compounds (such as nationwide, worldwide), it means "extending through the whole of," a concept traced back to late Old English.
So, to me, to widen is also to accept that we are part of something bigger, that nothing exists in isolation, and therefore, that all our actions and lives are somehow connected. I know you might be wondering why I always bring it back to relationality, but to me it’s obvious. We must widen to encompass the other—we must make room for the necessary change. This, however, might require slowing down a whole lot.
I hope you enjoyed the essay. For paid subscribers, I have left a short practice and some inspiring things I read and listened to these weeks. Enjoy 🌻
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