Weeping, Wailing, and Teeth-Gnashing: My Thoughts

I'm thinking of crying more often. Not because there's anything wrong or I really feel like crying or anything; just because I think I should.

See, it occurs to me that other people cry a lot more than I do. And I don't just mean during sacrament meeting. No, this extends to all kinds of things. People cry at movies, plays, break-ups, actual traumatic events...everything. Throughout the course of my life with friends and particularly roommates, I've seen people cry many, many times. But the last time anybody saw me cry for real, I'm pretty sure, was my junior year of high school, when I came home crying after an atrocious day and ran into my mother in the kitchen. That's it. Oh, I've cried on my own a couple times a year since then, but when it comes to witnesses, I'm always the only dry eye in the house. I'm starting to wonder if I'm missing out on something.

It appears that tears* can be useful in a variety of circumstances. For one, it makes a person seem so very sincere. I can look you straight in the eyes and say "I'm really very sad right now" for hours if I want to, but you'll never believe me the way you will if a couple drops of salty liquid slide down my cheeks**. But there's a host of other sweet perks to be found in the world of the weeping. Now it's time for a few stories.

First story. I saw the last travelling Broadway show of "Les Miserable" they ever performed in Portland, OR when I was about 17 years old. The group I went with accidentally bought one too few tickets, so we all chipped in and bought whatever single ticket they had last minute, which just happened to be on the orchestra level. Difficult as it was for me to be separated from the group, I immediately and eagerly volunteered for the better seat (everyone else was on the second balcony). After the show I met up with my friends and everyone started sharing the moments that had made them burst into tears. They turned to me expectantly. "What part made you cry?" they asked. I stared. "Um." "You didn't cry?!" "Well," I said, "I came close to almost crying a couple of times." You should have seen the looks they gave me. The shock! The horror! I was branded cold hearted at best, completely heartless at second-to-worst. Men, women, all twenty-something of my friends. I'd never thought it was such a big deal. I mean, I absolutely loved the show. It was extremely moving for me. I just didn't ruin my mascara as a result, that's all.

Next story. The last time I had to cry on stage was for this play I was in right before I graduated from high school. Basically this role required me to sit on the stage and cry for two hours a night while the rest of the show went on - no exits, no entrances, nothing. Just me and the waterworks. I experimented with a variety of different approaches, finally settling on a decidedly external approach (they tried getting me to go from the inside out but they weren't very good at it and all that happened was I got really sad). Well, there was one performance where I got myself to start crying and then I couldn't stop. I walked backstage at intermission, tears streaming down my face. My male friends in the cast sort of stood around me awkwardly until one of them (playing the part of an ally, no less) finally burst out with, "Julie, you've got to stop crying! I feel automatically guilty and I don't even know what I've done!"

Final story. Last year I went to see "The Testaments"*** in Salt Lake with some friends, including another guy friend of mine I sat next to. By the end of the movie I could hear him sniffling in a familiar fashion, so naturally I shifted uncomfortably in my chair (I was not looking forward to a repeat of the Les Miz experience). He, misunderstanding the gesture, reached out and took hold of my hand. Apparently he thought this would be some kind of sweet bonding experience for us, the impetus for many a steamy relationship to come (Hey, remember that time we cried during the Testaments? We must have a cosmic connection!). But then he looked over and met my blank, dry-eyed stare. That put an end to that.

Thus we see that a simple spin of the waterworks can win a gal friends, sheer power, and unwanted suitors--uhh, I mean dates. That's in addition to credibility and general respect. Now I don't cry much by nature, and almost never unintentionally, but given all this evidence I'm starting to think maybe I ought to allow it a little more often. And I don't mean just when I'm watching "Stepmom" or "A Little Princess." An acting teacher I had once recommended daily yoga and drinking lots of water. Maybe I'll try that.

*Hey, that rhymes!
**Okay, so that's one of the grosser descriptions of crying I've written lately
***Of One Fold and One Shepherd