Skip to main content

Proper Cry


Photo Source: thesetingstaketime.com via Stephanie on Pinterest
I love to laugh.  I love laughing so hard I lose  control.  I love that release.    For this reason and lots of others, I could not wait to see the blockbuster, Bridesmaids last summer.  Everyone told me, "you are going to pee yourself. It is so FUNNY."


And yes, I almost did pee myself, but I also cried through almost the entire last half of the movie.  I did not laugh so hard I cried, I just plain sobbed. I felt really sad watching the story of two friends come to terms with how their friendship was changing.  I was really surprised by my reaction after all the hype about how hilarious the movie was, but I knew why.  The brilliance of this movie was how life can be so hilarious and painful at the same time.  


Yesterday, I was on a social networking site and one of the people I follow mentioned that she cried "proper tears" upon reading a story about a woman's tragic childhood.  Out of curiosity, to see if it would make me "proper cry", I read the article.  It was a very factual telling of the convoluted family relationships and dynamics of this semi-famous person's family.  It was not particularly poetically told, just a straightforward sharing of her undoubtedly tragic circumstances.  I wondered what prompted the "proper tears".  Anyone hearing me talk about my Bridesmaids' "incident" would probably wonder the same thing about my reaction. Do we have different thresholds?  The threshold rises and falls depending on what else is going on in our lives.  Given different life circumstances or a different context or a different mood, I would not have cried.  

Some days I think I cannot cry enough. It is like I am just looking for an outlet to have a cry.  I'll hear someone tell a story on the radio that hits a nerve and my children patiently wait while I regain my composure.  Other days, I think I must be a callous unfeeling person. No matter how sad the story or the reasons, I've got nothing.  


I hate, I mean really hate crying in front of others.  I used to hide to cry.  As an adult, I'm beginning to see the redeeming features of tears.  Crying can crack open the normal, everyday and collapse some layers that I am wasting too much energy propping up. 


On those days that I'm more receptive to crying I seek out crying opportunities to flush out all the stored up fluids. Those fluids that have made my insides turgid with pent up emotions, exhaustion and unrequited feelings. It is like those tears distill what it is that is most important to me.


This crying song by Hawksley Workman is one my favourites  triggers.






















Comments

  1. I really liked this... I can always tell when I'm really really upset, by the difficulty I have in beginning the cry... ah...

    ReplyDelete
  2. Interesting. I'll have to pay attention next time and see what happens to me in really really upset mode.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Bas Jan Ader did a video in the 70's called 'I am too sad to tell you' and it is just him, crying. I have been really inspired by that work.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I entered August without you.

 I won't visit you this month.  You won't call. I will raid your garden and you won't get any of the vegetables. I will make plans without telling you about them. We'll go to the store and not buy you one single thing. Whole books will be read and I will not tell you which ones. I will watch movies and not inform you. The nasturiums will ripen. Last month was different. I changed my schedule and took time off work to be with you.   I dropped all kinds of plans for us to be together. You sent me messages, I received them. I picked up food that I thought you would like at the store and sent you pictures of every beautiful thing I saw. I sang with you. We watched the Great Canadian Baking Show. You chose the recipe for the garlic scape pesto and gave me instructions for making the gooseberry jam. I am in August without you. You are in July.

Fists full of lettuce

 It is a pot of a variety of lettuce plants. It was planted by my mom.  She has been living with Stage 4 bile duct cancer for at least 1.5 years (that we know of, probably a lot longer).  Standing and gardening are becoming harder as time goes on. She learned about gardening from her dad as a kid and kept on gardening every year of her adult life.  Sometimes the gardens were tiny or rudimentary, but with the help of my dad , they have become major and, at times elaborate, growing projects over the years.  Now it is a collection of raised beds and regular beds that hold a host of plants, vegetable and flowers. Something that was clear that first spring with Stage 4 cancer is that gardening would continue in a big way, cancer or no cancer.  It was important to order the seeds and start them inside and get them planted outside, no matter what. Spending time together in the summer with cancer now consistently involves gardening and following instructions. Plant...

Keep telling yourself that.

We talk to ourselves everyday, all day (and night) for the whole of our lives. We started talking to ourselves before we knew we were a self, we forget what we said because we forget everything from before...when we were too young and busy developing our brain to remember those early years. There is still lingering residue of long forgotten conversations I have had with myself as a toddler sitting around in the crevices...sloughing off occasionally into words I tell myself still.   We talk non-stop, and not just with dialogue.  Our goosebumps communicate to us, our tingly feelings, our neurons, our peripheal vision.  They are all submitting data into our self and expecting us to react, respond or all to often, expecting what they are sending us will be ignored. After all that talking, you'd think we'd know what we think about most things, but occasionally we are stumped.  Unless we stop what we are doing and really concentrate sometimes that voice(s) ...