Cry Like You Mean It

Crying is not a weakness, it’s a truth.

I almost feel as if I’ve been crying nonstop for the past 2 years…

Yesterday, someone came into the Post Office to pick up a certified letter. I heard the door open and her come in. I tried to greet her like I normally do when I hear the door open, but my voice caught, and I couldn’t.

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I’m sure you’re all familiar with Post Offices. The box section is open 24/7, but the lobby isn’t. The open hours of my little office are 12:30-4:30 PM, on weekdays. And I always prop open the door to the lobby. It serves three purposes:

• First, it allows me to hear when a customer does enter. Because I rarely see most of them, they just check their box and leave. But this allows me to greet each one with a, “Good afternoon,” at the very least.

• Secondly, it’s an invitation. The door’s open, come on in.

• And third, it makes it impossible for me to leave without locking up. And, I don’t have to go check and double check before I leave. If it’s closed, it’s locked. Period.

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Now this certainly isn’t the first time I’ve cried at work, I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned it to y’all before.

So anyway, I’ve finished all my daily tasks — it only takes me about 30 minutes or so. And I’m writing. And I’m balling. I mean really crying — sniffing, tears falling on the desk crying. It was good. 😭 I hear the door. Shit.

I tried to greet her like I do everyone, but am unable. I’m too deep in the pool, and when I open my mouth I start to drown. So I do the only thing I can, I smile.🥲

She walked into the lobby and immediately stopped when she saw that I had been ringing out tears like they’d been in a soaked, wet cloth. I smile bigger.

“It’s okay, I’m an artist,” I say. Like that explains why the world is round.

“Oh,” she stammered.

“No really,” I say reassuring her. “I’m just working on something that was really touching. It’s a good thing.”

I could see the relief wash over her, literally. Then we continued with the business at hand. After she had her letter, she thanked me and went about her day.

But the thing is, this isn’t an isolated incident — the crying I mean. I’ve always been “tender-hearted,” so they say. But since discovering my art, it’s been virtually out of control.

I could be watching Bink and Tink play together, or see the girls in the kitchen with their mama. I could be writing something that triggers it — fiction or non-fiction, it makes no difference. And movies? Forget about it.

There’s absolutely zero chance that I will not cry when reading a touching story or essay. Have y’all read Rick’s Antique Bastards story? My connection with Ruth is, both amazing and terrifying. Just like Ruth, I too feel as though I’m an infant in this new world of art and self expression.

Frankly y’all, I’m not even sure where I’m going with this — except maybe to say that it’s okay to cry. It’s good. It’s healthy to let those feelings out. It doesn’t matter if you’re a man. It doesn’t matter if you’re a business professional, or that others depend on you for strength. There’s a strength in being able to let go — in trusting yourself enough to let loose the reins at times, and just let the horse take you in the direction you’re supposed to go.

Crying is not a weakness, it’s a truth. So cry like you mean it.

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues.” - Douglas Fairbanks

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