Crying may have an evolutionary purpose, as it signals surrender (“please stop what you are doing to me”), elicits empathy from those around you, and can help parents locate their offspring. For babies, active crying may be a way of restoring equilibrium after overstimulation. One way to solve this is to mimic the womb with the 5 S’s—swaddle, side-stomach position, shush, swing, suck—a method developed by Dr. Harvey Karp. (That. Shit. Is. Genius. I’d seriously consider having a third kid, if babies weren’t so awful, just for the chance to impress childless friends with the 5 S’s.) Crying can also relieve the stress brought on by an onslaught of emotions that are difficult to process. Men aren’t supposed to cry, which likely is a function of the whole “indicates surrender” thing.
The first time I remember crying, I mean really crying, was at age nine. My mom had left my dad and me (she came back two weeks later to get me). I was watching The Partridge Family with my dad, on a Friday night at 8:30, pre-DVR. We were sitting on the couch in matching orange terrycloth robes, the height of opulence in 1970s middle-class America. My dad had received these luxury items as swag for playing in a golf tournament hosted by his firm, ITT. He snagged a size small for me, which was still eight sizes too big for a nine-year-old. Embroidered on the chest of our Tang-colored slouchwear was a red flagstick above green cursive that read “Pebble Beach.” I didn’t know where Pebble Beach was, but I knew important people played golf there, which meant my dad was important.
I hadn’t registered the shit that had gone down two weeks previous, but it suddenly crept up on me and, draped in my Turkish cotton tent, I began to sob uncontrollably. I cried for a good thirty minutes. My dad seemed panicked and kept saying, “I’m so sorry, is there anything I can do?” I would respond, “No, I’m just sad.” That was our first real conversation.
I lost the capacity to cry for about ten years between ages thirty-four and forty-four. Didn’t cry when I got divorced or when my mom died. Just forgot how, I think. I’m obsessed with business, am hugely stressed over it, and wrap way too much of my identity and self-worth around professional success. But I’ve never cried because of business. And trust me, there has been good reason several (hundred) times. However, since my mid-forties, something strange:
I cry all the time.
Pretty sure it’s a good thing. Sorrowful crying is looking to the past with sadness or to the future with dread. Crying as a result of happiness is a response to a moment as if it’s eternal; the person is frozen in a blissful, immortalized present. My tears lately (thankfully) have been the latter, as I slow down and pursue moments. Moments with friends, moments trying to freeze time with my kids, and (mostly) feeling very in the moment watching movies and TV. At least a third of the episodes of Modern Family get me weepy, and something about being on a plane turns me into a mess. (Do not watch the movie Gleason on a plane.)
I also choke up in class more often, in front of 170 kids in their late twenties. I used to feel embarrassed and tell myself I needed to keep it together. But as we get older we become more like ourselves, and I’m getting more comfortable with raw emotions and the potential collateral damage. I’ve earned it. As you get older and begin to register the finite time you have, you want to freeze time and have moments when you feel something.
Most depression isn’t feeling sad, but feeling nothing. Crying, especially in the company of, or while thinking about, loved ones, feels healthy and joyous. I well up just thinking about it.