Crying in Wal-Mart

I'm really not that crazy. I mean, yes, I'm a little bit crazy. But who isn't?

In fact, I'm not even sure crazy is the real issue. So I burst into tears in the middle of a store. What's the big deal?

(Source: Google Images)

For starters I had to go to Wal-Mart. That alone is enough to make a person cry. I typically don't go to Wal-Mart for a number of reasons, including concern for social justice issues and their general business values. Not to mention the overall weirdness of the place. But the other day I needed to go to Wal-Mart for an item I couldn't seem to find anywhere else. I was determined to get in and out as quickly as possible and headed toward my goal item with great intentionality, zipping past dawdling shoppers and short cutting through clothing racks. I got where I needed to be and started to scan the shelves. In a matter of moments a mother and a little girl, somewhere around 3-years old, came into the isle. They interacted sweetly for a bit and then the girl spied something she wanted. She asked for it. Mom said no. She asked again. Mom said no again. They did this for a while before the little girl lost composure and started crying and begging for whatever it was she wanted.  The mother never lost her patience but kept saying no.

That is when my crazy kicked in. I had to leave. Immediately. I had to walk away from their interaction because without warning I started to cry along with the little girl. Fortunately I wasn't wailing the way she was but I had to ground myself emotionally to keep from saying to the young mother, "Buy her what she wants. You don't understand how little time you have left with her. Soon she'll be gone to college and you'll be doing this alone. It goes by so fast." 

Obviously I didn't say that to the woman. For one thing it probably would have frightened her to have a tear-streaked-middle-aged woman she's never seen before telling her what to do with her child. Not to mention she was doing the right thing by not giving in. But my instantaneous reaction to their exchange made one thing clear.

It is time for Anna to come home for a little while.

Nevertheless, I made my way to the checkout trying not to look too off-balance as I attempted to regain my composure. I wanted in line for a near eternity as the cashier examined the fine print of every single coupon provided by the customer in front of me. Every. Single. Coupon. Every word. Every date. Because God forbid Wal-Mart might lose thirty-five cents by honoring an expired coupon. But that's beside the point.

I eventually made my purchase and left the store. By that time I was nearly back to normal but it made me think about why I felt the need to rush out of view because I had been blindsided by my emotions. Does crying because I miss my daughter really make me crazy?

I've always been one who cries easily. My mother made me stop watching Lassie when I was little because she got tired of me crying at the end of every episode. Although, in retrospect, I'm not sure making me watch Alfred Hitchcock was such a great idea.

Anyway, my Wal-Mart experience made me wonder why we, as a culture, are so afraid of tears. Why do we apologize for crying publicly? Assume it is a sign of weakness? And experience embarrassment and discomfort when someone sees us cry?

I think we've got it wrong. I don't think the intensity of missing my daughter when I saw that young mother and her little girl makes me weak or crazy. I don't think my tears indicate some emotional imbalance.

I think it makes me human.

Rather than hide my tears from view, maybe I should have just celebrated what they mean. That I miss the young woman with whom I spent years building a close and intimate relationship. That I recognize the speed with which time goes by and the importance of living intentionally and joyfully. That life is precious and fragile and fleeting.

I'm not saying I'm just going to walk around crying all the time. And I don't feel any compelling need to watch old Lassie TV shows. But if you should see me crying in Wal-Mart, don't assume I'm crazy or imbalanced or just hate Wal-Mart so much it brings me to tears. Just understand.

I'm human.

Risky Business

I wouldn't exactly call myself a risk-taker.

I'm not willing to jump off a bridge with a big rubber band tied around my waist. Or parachute out of a soaring airplane. Or hike a jagged saw-tooth ridge between 14,000 foot mountain peaks. I don't like physical pain and I'm not willing to mangle by body on purpose. If that's what it takes to be a risk-taker, I don't qualify.

But I do regularly visit my mother. That can be pretty dangerous.

Maybe I'm what you'd call a 'risk-taker lite.'

Recently I came across a quote by philosopher, William James: "It is only by risking our persons from one hour to another that we live at all." If I could, I'd ask James what he meant by the word risk. However, since he's been dead longer than I've been alive, asking him would require use of a Ouija board or a seance and that whole thing freaks me out too much. That would feel way too risky.

Regardless, maybe he didn't really mean we have to jump from an airplane to feel alive. Or to risk.

Maybe he meant something entirely different. To be sure, risk-taking can mean putting oneself in life threatening situations but I sort of think risk taking has more to do with loving people than potentially shedding blood. For some of us risk taking means offering our hearts. Or sharing our lives. Or just simply trusting. Because sometimes the risk of emotional pain is more frightening than the risk of physical pain.

Nothing makes us feel more alive than loving people.

But, it's a risk.

Like so many, I learned to be emotionally cautious at an early age. I couldn't trust the people I was supposed to be able to trust so it only stood to reason that it was pretty risky to trust other people as well. So I withheld. A lot.

But as I entered adulthood I didn't like feeling only half alive. I wanted to feel fully alive and the only way to do that was to risk being hurt. I started off slowly, sharing my life and investing in relationships. I became more vulnerable. I let others see the genuine me. Gradually as I risked more and more of my heart I started to feel more and more alive.

And I liked it.

Sure, it was risky and I'm far from perfect at it, but over time I've learned that the joy of loving outweighs the pain of being hurt. I can't have one without the other. There's nothing better than the joy of loving my friends and family. Nothing outweighs the warmth of knowing and being known. Nothing is more meaningful than pure and simple love.

Don't look for me to be bungee jumping anytime soon. That's not what I need to feel alive. But you can bet I'll be taking the risk to love.

There's no greater joy in life.