I’ve always loved that old song, “Try a Little Tenderness,” performed so memorably by Otis Redding, who died far too young at the age of 26. It begins so quietly—almost like someone sitting across the table, offering a bit of simple, hard-earned advice.
The song notices a kind of tiredness. Not just physical, but the deeper kind that comes from carrying things over time. The kind we rarely talk about. And then it offers something simple: don’t add to what’s already heavy. There’s enough there.
Instead, try a little tenderness.
It starts to feel less like a message about one person and more like a description of almost everyone. You can see that same quiet weariness in the delivery driver trying to finish the day, the cashier near the end of a long shift, the person driving slowly through a neighborhood looking for work.
Most people are carrying something, and much of it goes unspoken.
What adds to that load is usually not outright cruelty. It’s smaller than that—a distracted glance, a flicker of impatience, not quite seeing the person who’s right there.
Sometimes these moments are called microaggressions, but the experience itself isn’t new.
For those navigating this world with a marginalized identity—of race, gender, class, or origin—these moments are rarely unnoticed. They accumulate; they’re part of the load itself.
Some years back, a man pulled up to our old place in Mānoa and asked if I wanted the trees trimmed—someone trying to make something happen on a weekday morning.
I looked him in the eyes and tried to meet him with some respect. I told him I was sorry—we were renting the house, and the answer would be no. He nodded. We both kind of teared up.
I didn’t add to what he was carrying. Something in me simply registered it
That moment hit home what tenderness is. It’s not merely a sentiment, but a small, real decision not to place one more weight on someone who’s already carrying enough.
This is also what our mettā practice points to.
We’re not talking about forcing a feeling, but noticing the reflex of dismissal or impatience as it arises, and choosing otherwise. Phrases like may you be happy, may things go well for you today are simple enough.
What they ask is that we actually see the person in front of us.
The person in that song is tired. So, most likely, is the next person you will encounter today. Don’t add to it.
Try a little tenderness.
Further Reading
Tom Davidson-Marx founded Aloha Sangha in Honolulu and has practiced Buddhist meditation for decades, including three years as a Theravada monk.
Leave a Reply