I watched ‘The Art of Racing in the Rain’ last weekend. Let me clarify. I cried my way through ‘The Art of Racing in the Rain’ last weekend. Holy tearjerker! And I was missing my crying companion, my youngest child. So I was blubbering on my own as the other two watched on amused as always, not heartless, just knowing mom’s a crier when it comes to a good tearjerker.
The irony is I’m not a crier under other circumstances. When crazy things happen that require that fight or flight response I’m all fighter. The tears or breakdowns come later when my mind churns and re-churns different scenarios that could have happened. Although I will admit, in recent days, little things have set me off crying – thinking about my kids upcoming birthdays, sad movie trailers, commercials. I’m guessing it has something to do with uncertain times and getting softer as I age.
I’ve seen the question asked on SM whether a writer has ever cried at anything they’ve written. For me, only once, ok maybe twice. I have however felt some of the words I’ve written profoundly as if I didn’t know they were buried in me. I wish I could point to how I find those words or why they bubble up sometimes and not so much other times because I would tap that source and bleed it dry. For me it seems to be some desert mirage, Eden, Shangri-la, Valinor, only gifted to me in the right light. My guess is it’s that fateful and mystical place where fiction meets reality and reality, fiction.
Maybe it’s a variation of tears, made of words and not water.