Everyday I Cry a Little Clearer

I used to think crying was a weakness.

I didn't ever want people to see me this way. My tears were shameful. A symbol of demise.
A wet, watery, streaming-down-my-face
Weakness.

Actually, I was perturbed by the whole notion of tears in general.

Tears of sadness.
Tears of joy.
Tears of onions.

Tears when I watched TV commercials of abandoned animals that I never knew, besides through the cold, distant colors of my television screen.

Why tears?
What are they? Where do they come from?

Whenever I started to feel my eyes welling up, the internal dialogue would begin.

Oh no, not now. Why am I crying? Seriously tear ducts? 

Confusion quickly turned to shame.

Please. Fuck. Who is looking? Play it cool. Swallow them down. Blink. Think of something else. Open eyes wide - dry them out. Fast! Deep breaths. Not too deep. Don't want sister to turn and see. 

What is wrong with me?

Someone once told me, "Don't be so emotional."
Okay, not just someone.
Many-ones.

And so I practiced...time and time again....year and year, again...how to suppress my emotions.
Because I was told not to be that way: emotional.

Yea well...You all know where this story goes.
By this day in age, we've all read the articles, blogs...seen the Ted Talks.

Emotions are cool and meant to be expressed. 
Just be you!
Don't change for anyone.
You're perfect as you are!

I get those things.
I believe them and I almost always, sometimes, mostly, live them.

It's just that I am 27 years old and I spent 21 years living the other way, listening to the other things... so it takes a bit of effort to create a new mindset around crying. And create new habits...

...A habit of embracing my emotions and gracefully enduring the typical response that comes from those around me when they see me cry.

I am an emotional person.

This doesn't mean I'm irrational. Well, not always.
This doesn't meant I don't have a grip on my life.
This does not mean I am weak.

It means, I need to be expressive. Always. In all the different ways I can be.
I need to experience my emotions and recognize whatever they are trying to tell me.

The truth is, now, I love when the tears fall.
Let me clarify... I don't always love the discomfort I see on the faces of my family members and the awkwardness of people around me when they are present for this...

But I love the release. I love the sensation of something in me that wants to come out...emerging in such a beautiful expression as that of water.
I love tasting the salty drops as they make their way into the corners of my mouth. I love watching them splatter on the pages beneath my face. I love feeling it all. come. out.

And I love the calm after.

Once it has been released...felt...experienced, I have a much clearer understanding of life, my place in it, and what I need to do next.

So my tears are not a weakness.
My tears are an expression of something that needs to be felt.
And I want to learn to live more and more in this space
of not-holding-back.

Yesterday, once the rain calmed, I took my dog and headed to the park. We were the only 2 there. It was a chilly morning that was much appreciated during a humid summer in August. As we were entering the park, an exuberant wind blew, shaking the branches of the tree above me and sprinkling me with water. I smiled. My skin woke up.

G ran ahead, excited to be off the leash, occasionally stopping and turning to look back at me. I decided to run and catch up.

As we made our way running down the long, windy and hilly trains that traverse Rockwood park along the Hudson River, I felt myself forgetting about my jog. I was so enveloped in the world around me that I didn't notice my own physical being - I had become part of everything else.

We turned a corner, and G took off from the path and ran straight into the field of long grass that was an island amongst the manmade trails. The energy of his sprint took over me and I found a surge of energy pulling me forward. I used everything in me and sprinted. Feet pounding the Earth, hair blowing, heart racing, breath heavy...

The sprint felt so fucking good that I felt all of my cells dancing inside of me.
I felt new and fresh and whole again.

And sure enough, like a moth to a flame, there came the tears to my ducts.

G's goofy smiling and floppy ears came bounding towards me and we all met - my sprinting legs and beating heart, G's drooling grin and muddy paws, and the beautiful energy of the morning hours - at a little shady spot beneath a tall tree.

I squatted down to grab G's head and we looked at each other, panting for a moment, before he trotted off to a nearby puddle of water to quench his thirst.

I stayed there, squatting close to the ground. Falling so in love with mother Nature. Like so many moments of my life in the forests of Costa Rica.

My breath was loud and my heart was pounding itself against the inner walls of my chest.
My hands touched the soil.
And my soul was so, so happy.

As I stayed there, legs bent and eyes close to the ground, I suddenly realized what was before me.

In the blurry canvas of browns and greys, distinct forms began to take shape.

An unearthed cemetery of Earth worms.
Worm after worm, exposed and unmoving above the gravel.
Hundreds of them.
One after another. Limp and lying.

My first reaction was sadness. All of these lifeless creatures splayed out on the ground.
Ready to be prey to the harsh sun and predators of the day.

And then my reaction turned to wonder. How did this happen?
Had the heavy early morning rains washed them out and up?

And I'm no scientist, nor Earthworm-tologist
But it was all so clear in that very instant

Water comes
always
in the natural flow of life
sometimes fresh, sometimes salty, sometimes sweet
Bringing to the surface anything that needs to be recognized
all the things that have been life-full
and life-giving in their years of existing in this form.

Once recognized
we surrender to the moment
the heavy waters subside
leaving before us
A moment of clarity.
And whatever is left there before us
in whatever state we find it,
we must make sure to use
these are gifts
given to us to create again.

And so my tears
have become my closest allies.

Subway Nights

Late night alone on the New York City subway.
Suddenly, I don't feel so comfortable in my short-shorts and trendy black boots that I found in my Mother's closet.
Ironically, I'm not worried. I just don't feel this is the best decision I've made.
Anyways, no one seems to care.
I look at each of them individually. Transporting myself into their world for a few seconds.
A woman, half-asleep/half-awake, holds a baby basin on her lap.
Her hair is pulled back tight and the baby is quiet.
It is after midnight on a Wednesday night.
I wonder where she is coming from. Traveling so late with her sleeping baby.
She doesn't look happy.
She doesn't look restful, despite her sleepy eyes.
It doesn't feel good to see her like this.

Two men are standing. Each of them are holding canes.
They are a bit older.
Neither of them are looking at anyone or anywhere.
They are just staring.
Occasionally fidgeting with something or tapping their fingers upon the cane.
They don't make eye contact with anyone.
They don't look happy, necessarily.
And the quietness of their face tells me 'surrendered'.
And I'm not sure if that's good or bad.
But they both seem like the type of people who could use a good sit and a good conversation.
They are alone, just themselves and their canes.
It's 12:05am on a Wednesday night.

A man in the far corner is staring at me.
An almost entirely uninterrupted gaze from an acceptable distance from my zone of comfort.
I wonder if he is doing the same as I am.
Taking a trip inside my mind, my world.
Wondering where I am coming from and where I am going.
I'm not thrilled about the staring
But it doesn't really bother me either.
We're just two people, who found ourselves in the same place,
alone at night on the New York City subway.

And when the bells rings and the doors open
Louder than usual
Interrupting the outer silence
and the inner noise of my thought journeys
I step up and with a slight smile
Say goodbye to my new acquaintances
No eye contact
Not sure anyone of them really saw me.

And the walk feels lonely back to my sister's apartment.
It's dark and bright simultaneously
The lights everywhere make me wonder
Who is awake and who is asleep in this world?
Cars speed by fast
and then I don't see another one until I get to the next big avenue.
One man is taking his garbage out.
The buckles of my shoes make a jingle with each step
And I hear each one, loud.

And just before I cross the last street to my sister's place
A garbage truck turns
And flashes it's lights at me
And I smile
Because for some reason that acknowledgement
Helps me feel less alone tonight.