As I grow older audaciously, I also grow more vulnerable. I often think that is at the heart, the root, the core muscle of why I cry so easily. This daily phenomenon of tear dropping doesn’t have anything to do with specific things happening in my life. And nor am I depressed or down in the dumps.
Let me be clear. My tears do not stem from a place of gloomy darkness. But they do come from a deep emotional place. They are a peculiar concoction of heartache for the world right now, tenderness and loving kindness for all human beings, especially the innocent and fragile, grace given and gratefully received, gladness, lightness of being and joy. Yes, joy.
There isn’t one singular reason for the tears. Nothing particular or noteworthy. It’s just everything. The entire kit and kaboodle, the whole shebang and everything in that damn kitchen sink.
I never know when the tears will erupt and I’ll be overcome by emotions so extreme that even if I wanted to hold back the tears, I could not. There’s no stopping an avalanche once it starts rolling and rumbling down the mountainside. It’s kind of like that. So, I just let them come. No matter where I am or who I’m with. Most of the time I’m alone though. Usually when I’m walking the neighbourhood streets in the dawning light with my dog, Simon.
The tears don’t generally come from big ponderous thoughts either. Nothing intellectual, academic or cerebral. No grand gestures. Nothing monumental or even notable. More often than not, it’s the little things. Like the kid in Sixth Sense, I see things. Not dead people. But things that move me. Familiar daily life stuff that I overlook or take for granted most days. And then bam, clear out of the blue I’m astonished by the beauty and pure splendor of it all. It catches my heart. Takes my breath away. Fills me with wonderment. And feels so impossibly miraculous. It just gets to me. Every single time.
Just the privilege of being alive. To see my little corner of the world awaken every morning with me still in it. The fervent and genuine connection I feel to all living beings, creatures great and small, to everything and everyone that I share this earth walk with. It is humbling. And magnificent. Simple. But oh, so grand.
And because of all this, I feel vulnerable. Not in an adverse fragile-old-lady-who-can’t-take-care-of-herself way. But in a heart wide open accepting “all the feels” way. Good, bad and otherwise. And it is a choice. I choose to be vulnerable. I choose to be soft. I choose to be compassionate. I choose life. And all that it brings. Even when it hurts.
