I tend to be emotional.
|Sorry, Dawson… you were always in the friend zone.|
Some might call that the understatement of the quarter-century, but I call it the truth. When I was “roasted” my senior year of high school, I was given a large towel to help dry up all the tears I was certain to shed in college. They weren’t so far off. Ask me a personal question, and it’s likely that within three minutes my chin will quiver and I will be nervous about my mascara running.
When I started teaching I determined never to cry in front of students. But, when I was “surplussed” four-weeks into my first job, and told that I would have to pack up all the supplies in my classroom and hope for a chance in a different Metro Public school, my no-crying resolution went out the window. My eyes leaked through the rest of the day… and sporadically through the rest of the year (I got the job back two days later).
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I boo-hoo my way through every day. In fact, after that first year of teaching, tears haven’t made another classroom appearance. But still, they show up at church, at home, with friends, and in the car when a particularly poignant song comes on the radio.
Sometimes I hate this about myself. While my tears have become less frequent, they haven’t disappeared all together. I really thought the wells would eventually dry up, my skin would get thick and someday, maybe someday, the waterworks would stop.
But I’m about to turn twenty-five. Do tears indicate weakness in the face of life’s problems, or a strength to recognize truth? Is crying a complete waste of time? Or does showing emotion serve an important purpose?
When you cry, are you always making a mountain out of a molehill?