I cry easily. And increasingly, I cry about apparently nothing.
I wish I more often had some external trigger to explain the reason for my tears. Sometimes they feel inexplicable, even uncalled for.
At times, I begin to cry when sadness within me feels so vast and so deep that it escapes from my eyes, like the hissing steam escaping from a pressure cooker. It used to happen at goodbyes, when the sorrow of letting someone go seemed almost too crushing to bear. Recently, the sadness-triggers tend to be more ambiguous, often nothing more than a vague recognition of the tragic absurdity of my life and the lives of those around me. With all of the goodness that is in my life, and there is an abundance of it, I am increasingly aware of how tenuous and impermanent it all is.
At other times, I cry when love and joy feel so overwhelming they involuntarily spill over. Like when I look into Ed’s clear blue eyes and see what I feel is my soul reflected in them. Or when I witnessed the birth of my two healthy grandsons.
And sometimes an unconscious mingling of sorrow and joy brings on my tears. I remember when Ed and I stood at the foot of the Yguazu Falls in Brazil a few years ago, in the midst of throngs of humanity around us and beneath the grandeur of the thundering “Devil’s Throat.” In the face of that great torrent, I experienced my own insignificance and the illusion of signficance and permanence most of us cling to. In that moment, I felt, inexplicably, the existential pain of all of those happy strangers laughing, pointing, shouting and taking photos. I also felt a holy bond uniting all of us on this journey. I wept when I let in the pure sadness and joy of it all.
If you’re at all like me, you know that crying this way makes us vulnerable to potential ridicule. We live in a culture focused on constructing a kind of perfect bubble, complete with constant access to cell phones and our extended social networks that “like” us, which insulates us against the emotional turmoil that may produce tears. Because of our many social connections (read: social network friends), we imagine ourselves as always connected.
But are we kidding ourselves? As John Gorman said in a recent post on medium.com, “Even as it’s become harder to lose people, it’s easier than ever to feel completely lost (and alone). We used to know our friends … now we just have them.”
When I cry vulnerable tears that are about nothing other than feeling the weight or the lightness of the world around me, I am more completely connected to humanity than at any other time. I cry happily and sorrowfully when I recognize, deep down, that every true connection I make in life is as precious as it is impermanent.
Do you cry? Why do you cry? Or maybe, why don’t you cry?
There are times when I so want to cry and nothing comes forth. For example, for me this often happens in times of deep sadness or frustration.
By contrast, there are other times when I am moved to tears. They come flowing forth even when I try to suppress them. I can count on the fact that they will flow when I am in the presence of excellence. This excellence may show up in many different ways. For example, the tears will flow when I read an extraordinary piece of writing or as I watch an astonishing athletic performance or bit of acting. It has happened repeatedly when I have had to good fortune of being close to our master tai chi teacher, Dr. Paul Lam, as he performs an individual demonstration at the end of a training session.
Simply said, I have the good fortune of being moved to tears of joy in the presence of excellence.
Another good reason to cry!
Have you ever thought about what underlies those tears in the presence of excellence? Said differently, why do you think excellence brings you to tears?
I think this is an interesting question you ask. However, I don’t know the answer. It has long been so in my life. I will think about it. However, if I had to guess, I would say that a dominant characteristic of my personality since childhood is the feeling/thinking that I am not enough. Therefore, it may be that those who appear to be more than enough appeal to me as being so special that I am moved to tears.
I think “appear to be” are the most important words in your post, Ed. Those who “appear to be” more than enough may well suffer from the same not-enough angst. It’s the human condition. Thank you so much for sharing!
I’ll have to read the article by John Gorman, “Even as it’s become harder to lose people, it’s easier than ever to feel completely lost (and alone). We used to know our friends … now we just have them.” I’m sure it will have many points I will agree with.
Visiting your site and I can see similarities. And as far as tears? They have been part of my life. When I experience joy as well as when I experience loss. And a simple meaningful commercial can bring me to tears. But for me, I have learned when I am sad or in pain, somehow I am able to go there and words will just flow out of me. Especially poetry.
Ah yes. Your exquisite poems are like tears, Anne – of joy and sadness. But I also think there are places tears take us that are beyond words, that language cannot capture. Have any of you experienced that?
I cry all the time (daily maybe), but it is usually for something I find inspirational, sad or moving out in the world. I have been able to cry rarely for my own sadness in this lifetime.
Brad, I continue to find it very touching that you show up on this site – thank you! I wonder, do you clearly distinguish between your own sadness and the sadness of others? I am increasingly aware of the universal nature of our pain.
I am aware that I don’t cry, really cry and shed tears rolling down my face very often. Why? Am I overly composed, overly meditated (not medicated). What happens more often is that my eyes well up with tears when I am feeling compassion for those who struggle and survive with so little, appreciating that I have so much. Our adult son of special needs works at minimum wage, as millions in our society do, and there is no way he could, or anyone could, really survive on that little bit of income. He requires our financial support. I remain in awe of all who cope with great challenges: financial need, physical health, mental health, family problems. . . . . with great fortitude.
“Overly meditated.” That’s interesting. I’d love to hear more about what that means to you (either privately or on this site).
I cry at great endings and pet food ads. I tend to swear more when frustrated. Great endings can be of lives or events. I’m fortunate to have known many people who’ve had lives well lived. May we all be going in that direction. At the end of great events, I often try and imagine what that person is feeling and how they will remember it in the future. I’m so happy for them and thankful that they’ve shared the moment with me.
Lovely.
And the pet food ads???