On Crying.
Everyone's all hubbub about Hillary's crying. Some people think she's a calculating
genius. Some people think it proves that a woman is too weak to be president. Some
people love her more than ever.
What I'm interested in is how a woman getting choked up on the campaign trail is
such a big deal. People are acting like she's Ricky from Project Runway...
who would cry just thinking about Mood.
To me, crying is a simple release of emotion. It's not something to be feared or mocked. But I do think when you witness someone crying you are looking in a window to their true self, and I can understand why a lot of people would be afraid of that.
I remember a time when a boss (who was also a friend) took me out for a drink to tell me I had to stop crying at work. KEEP IN MIND, I had only cried about 3 times over the course of a year. And I never cried uncontrollably, or without good reason.
That stapler was MINE, you WHORE!
Regardless, I always would compose myself and re-approach the issue with calm - and do everything in my power to be the best employee I could be. Of course, it was complicated, and I certainly had my moments of irrational thinking at that job. But I don't understand why, instead of approaching me as an intelligent employee who clearly was just trying to do a good job - why he had to focus on something so insignificant as a few uncontrolled tears. Like that's the reason the company was going down in flames and work was a hard place to be. Because I cried a few times. PLEASE. Anyway, it turned out to be fine but I always had this nagging feeling that everyone thought I was a weak, unstable female who just needed a double-dose of Midol or something worse.
I understand the concept of developing a thick skin, and people have been telling me my whole life that I need to get one. But here's the thing. I'm not sure it's possible to be a creative, innovative person and have a thick skin. I'm not sure you can be a truly talented comedian and go through life with layer upon layer of superficial armor and repression. Sure I've met really grossly fake comedians and artists of all sorts. But when they are creating, when they are doing their work, they are bearing it all - they are REAL, they are emotional and raw. Artists are porous, they absorb the world, and they squeeze out this stuff that helps us see it in a new way. They aren't made of stone.
So for me to survive, I have to walk around with a thin skin. I have to allow myself to feel what's going on around me in the world. To let shit hit me in my gut. To get angry about what's going on. To recognize the madness (and hilarity) of it all. As someone very wise once said...you have to walk forth being fearless yet vulnerable. It's the only way for me to function. I feel very misunderstood sometimes because of this.
I cried at work because I cared about the job. Why I cared that much, I have no idea. Turns out, when you're working for a company run by rich men, you can pretty much be 100% confident they don't give a shit about you. If you're dangling from a cliff, but right next to you, there is also a $100 bill dangling from said cliff, you can be assured that the $100 will be rescued first. Usually (the still-breathing optimist in me believes there are probably some good powerful men in the world), the sheer fact that they are the CEO is because they operate in this way.
I LIKE to let a couple tears out during the day. It makes me feel better. Why would I go around pretending that nothing effects me? We don't get much time on this earth, why would I waste my time fighting a constant battle to shove my emotions under the rug, just so later down the road I finally murder someone? Here's where I feel it's a misunderstanding. I think this guy thought that a tear rolling down my face was the same thing as a tear rolling down his face. That we have the same repressed amount of bubbling emotion-lava beneath the surface - and when a tear finally manages to erupt out into the open - it can only mean one thing - that the shit has completely hit the fan. So it makes sense, that when they see me cry, they think - oh SHIT - we're on a non-stop train to crazy town, get me outta here! Well, maybe because I let it out often, I don't have that emotional shit-storm brewing inside of me. I just let a few tears roll down, and I'm good as new, ready to get back to that adorable little spreadsheet in front of my face.
The sound of the ventilation unit rattling in this office sounds like the creaking of an ironing board. In this hushed place I work, the wave of a childhood memory washes over me, the memory of my mom ironing a huge pile of clothes in our little wood-paneled den. It is a soothing sound. The creaking of the ironing board, the exhale of the steam when she lifted up the iron off the shirt. So yeah, I'm crying. Vote for me!