Illustration by Maya Winshell
I am a big proponent of public crying. However, I understand that you, gentle reader, may be hesitant at the prospect of such an indecent act, so let me win you over to the idea of simply weeping in the first place. Then we will go public.
I like crying partly because of the pain of it. I appreciate the honesty of truly facing life and not trying to sugarcoat or deny the depths. I enjoy feeling like I am about to break apart, riding the waves of something terrible and primordial that I do not fully understand.
Crying is a way to value and honor all parts of yourself, including the uncontrollable wildness in you. At the very least, it provides a nice break from the repetitive sameness of existence. And it is better than feeling nothing at all.
I have definitely gone through some long numb periods. Not coincidentally, those were the same times when I did not listen to music. I now find it powerful, liberating and humbling to be able to feel so deeply, and to empathize with the melodies of others’ pain.
There are numerous reasons why it might be difficult for you to cry. In addition to general numbness, I used to avoid crying partly due to internalized misogyny. Women are so emotional, and that is a bad thing, right?
The same devaluing of emotion, rooted in patriarchy and toxic masculinity, is also behind men’s hangups about crying, which begin very early in life. Published in 2017, a Behavioral Neuroscience study found fathers more responsive to their daughters’ emotions than to their sons’, a pattern which can pave the way for difficulties processing emotions later in life. Too much repression will corrode you from the inside out.
If you are the sort of person who tends to rely on risky endeavors or drugs in order to get a rush, try tearing up instead. You might be surprised at the thrilling intensity of a sobbing session that shakes you to your core.
You might not feel safe or comfortable crying at home where your roommates, partner or family can hear you. It can be inconsolably lonely, if sometimes necessary, to cry into your pillow alone in your room. Personally, I find it miserable, stifling and abject, and it makes me feel trapped. However, when in public I am less frightened of myself.
If I am sobbing my heart out while roaming the moors — I mean the park blocks near my house — then I feel connected to the natural world and my community. It gets me out of my head and puts my own pain in perspective. Yes, it hurts, but every passerby I see has a story to tell, and has been or will be where I am now.
I recently startled a sedate woman walking her dog in the park as I stumbled past, wailing vociferously. She eyed me sideways as I perched on a nearby bench and sobbed. Public crying has increased my compassion for people who are barely holding it together, whom others label as “crazy” because they feel unnerved when confronted with their own privilege.
You might think it is difficult to cry on the Lewis & Clark campus where you are more likely to startle an acquaintance than a stranger, but you can always hide if you are afraid of being caught having visible emotions. Head out to Tryon Creek State Natural Area and temporarily become an unquiet spirit haunting the woods, disturbing passersby. You could even become a new Portland landmark.
It is freeing to cry in public. The pandemic has made it easier than ever — no one can see the grimace or tears behind your mask. For the enthusiastic public crier, I highly recommend a good pair of earbuds or headphones. Not only does the addition of your own personal soundtrack heighten the emotional intensity of the experience, but it also prevents you from noticing how loudly you are howling.
On that note, I leave you with a few recommendations on what to listen to while you bawl.
There are two main routes to go for your soundtrack: loud and angry (such as rock or rap) or quiet and thoughtful (such as lo-fi or soft acoustic). While some people enjoy raging to hardcore angst punk, I often find it too loud and messy as it tries to compete with, rather than enhance, my own private drama. It is as if I told a friend I really needed to talk, and instead of sitting back and listening, they hijacked the conversation and talked all over me about their own problems.
With that caveat, I still relish angry music from time to time. “La Rage” by the Argentine-French rapper Keny Arkana is great fun to play when furious. If you are not angry when you begin listening, Arkana will have riled you up by the end.
My go-to for general crying is “Soul Meets Body” by Death Cab for Cutie. As an intensely embodied yet (I would argue) highly abstract activity, crying indeed feels like a brief, electric fusing of body and soul.
For cases of lovesickness, try “When It Hurts so Bad” and “Just Like the Water” by the incomparable Ms. Lauryn Hill. I weep to them partly because I just really like these songs — that goes for all the tracks on this playlist — but they are also versatile songs that you can both happy-cry and sad-cry to. This makes them perfect for love-induced mood swings.
If you or someone you know is suffering from depression, listen to “Black Dog” by Arlo Parks. I have yet to cry to this one, but I look forward to weeping gently to it someday as Parks croons “I would do anything to get you out your room.”
When curating your crying soundtrack, it is important to include songs that relate to your specific circumstances. For instance, I injured my knee last fall and have been unable to run for almost half a year, which undoubtedly contributed to the inception of this article. One of my favorite things in the whole world was to run around the waterfront during or just after dusk while looking at the city lights glint above the river and listening to “Here Comes the Night Time” by Arcade Fire. I hope to do that again one day, and if I do, I will cry from happiness.
This article presents opinions held by the author, not those of The Pioneer Log, its editorial board or those interviewed for background information.
About the Author
“Yes, it hurts, but every passerby I see has a story to tell, and has been or will be where I am now.”
Yes, everyone has a story to tell. SPOT ON!!