Cry Baby!

HYPOTHESIS: The permanent aridity of this desert climate is dehydrating my body such that it’s capacity to produce tears has been diminished.

METHOD:

1. Over a 24-hour period, I consumed 3 bottles of Powerade.
2. Over the course of an hour, I ruminated on emotionally intense situations and scenarios to trigger the pathways in the brain that produce tears.

RESULTS: My eyes welled up, but instead of instantly evaporating, the tears fell in short streams. Somewhat alarming, yet cathartic, I basked in the feeling of release. Then I wiped my face, looked in the mirror, and brought my body back to reality.

DISCUSSION: I need to drink more water. And crying isn’t always negative. What I have realized is I am a wear-your-heart-on-your-sleeves type of person, in that I feel a lot of emotion, or at least, it feels that way to me - I can’t claim to feel more emotion the next person. I only know for myself that no sensation is blunted. Can that be overwhelming. Maybe. Yes. I have stressed about such things. Occasionally, I do I sit and think, I could use a cigarette - the metaphorical kind, of course.

CONCLUSION: Through rudimentary evaluation, I failed to reject the null hypothesis.

For months I have pondered: Do I need an uncontrolled substance. I pondered the idea as I drove to my bass lesson. There’s a dispensary right next to the school, I could get some edibles, get really high, and think about my so-called life.

The bass lesson was oddly therapeutic. Happy! I turned in my bass guitar for repairs; it was like taking a friend to the hospital. Sad! I went to my car, and played one of my favorite songs. Happy! I thought - it is good to feel things. It is good to feel things in their complete intensity, so I will skip the edibles. When I went home, I watched an episode of Braceface. In it, Sharon bemoans the distance that exists between herself and her father because her parents are divorced and he lives far away. Sad! Oh, to feel open heartedly is an undulating ride.

Now, I will discuss some of the events that almost made me cry. Again, I attribute the lack of physical tears to the apparent dehydration I have experienced. But perhaps, the mind decided it was not the time for a release.

1. Youtube Video I watched a video of Beautosal, a Nigerian natural hair influencer, detailing her labor experience. What struck me was the amount of trauma that she experienced in a short period of time. There were moments where she was unsure if she or the baby would survive labor. Throughout, her husband showed a huge amount of care and concern, and her family had an unshakeable faith that all would end well. The way she described her family’s care felt very familiar, both the intensity of their belief in God, and that the whole family was involved during the labor process, extended family included. There is a disconnect I have when I see the traditional American nuclear family in media - it has never been just mom, dad, and the kids in my household, living in some sort of void. And there is no kicking the child out the house at 18 to figure out life on their own. I could go to home tomorrow and have a place to stay, and I wouldn’t be treated as a nuisance. Which is not to say this is the experience of every American. But I am grateful to have such a strong sense of family, to know there is always a place to call home. Which of course triggered emotion. I do want to have a child one day. I can daydream about living next door to say, my sister, and maybe she’d have a child too, and they’d be close and it’d be great. But am I willing to go through the possible pain and suffering to reach the other side? The contrasting pull of wants and fears was like how you might start a fire, two sticks producing friction against each other, sparks, but no flame.

2. Conversation with Mom When I called my Mom that Sunday, she talked fervently about her expanding catering business. She has always been great at cooking. As a child, I didn’t realize her adeptness as making traditional Nigerian dishes wasn’t typical. But one day, my sister pointed it out: Most people can’t cook. Call it bias if you want, but the parties we’d go to, the food was nowhere near as good as the food mom could cook. Throughout the years, my mom did many catering gigs for different events, parties and weddings and whatnot, but now, she wanted to upgrade, better packaging, licensure, website, the works. Eventually, she explained, she would retire from her current job and go all in with the catering business. I observed her face as spoke with such confidence and I realized I shared more traits with her than I thought, both physical, and perhaps underneath, that maybe I had that confidence in myself too, that I could, and I should, make this writing thing or this music thing or something work, side-gig/side-hustle/side-step corporate America/side-step dullness/sideways/across the bounds of time and space/sideways/I could change my life - at any age, I could change my life.

3. Contemporary Heartache Media My therapist says no more Blondshell. Yes, perhaps I have overindulged in too many sessions of Kiss City, but there’s something about the way she says Just look me in the eyes / when I’m about to finish / Kiss City ! / I think my kink is when you tell me that you think I’m pretty - what could be truer and more open than those words? When I escape the cold corporate air and enter the desert heat, when the sun spits at my eyes, in that space between seeing and unseeing, in between rays of blinding light, inbetween dead or alive, I bury myself in yearn - yes, I’ve arrived at Kiss City, where all I want is to be held in a way that is real.

Just for fun, other songs for the yearners:

1. NYC One thing about Phoenix is that it is a city of transients. The city gained prominence at the invention of central air conditioning, which turned it from a brutal desert to a fairly pleasant place to live. As such, it does not have a long history of being a big, bustling city in the way New York or Chicago has (although there is a long history of Native people who have occupied and continue to occupy this land). This is all to say that a large portion of Phoenix residents are those that have moved recently, not necessarily those whose family has been here for generations. It is a city you come to for opportunity - school, a new job, affordable cost of living - a jumping ground to build a new life. I moved to Phoenix solely for a job, and so did the majority of my friends. And still, I was surprised when Lexi announced she was moving to NYC in less than a month’s time. And I felt sad, because she is a lovely person, a key component of the quinfecta or tetrafecta, and she would depart soon. And while distance doesn’t eliminate a friendship it surely changes it, especially with the time zone difference. And it wouldn’t just be her departing. Maya has ambitions to leave too, really everyone I know does. Even I expect to leave the desert behind one day. Where would we end up over the years?

Over the summer I was tasked with being a mentor for a small group of interns. During this time, I met an adorable intern, Cherry, whose sincerity in how she expressed herself showed a level of thoughtfulness and wisdom that is uncommon for a 21-year-old. She too expressed a desire to work at the tower in NYC, although for the summer she’d been assigned to Phoenix. At the end of the summer, the interns learn whether they’ve received full-time offers, which she did. Initially, her offer was for the Phoenix location, which she expressed disappointment in. But I had a feeling this wouldn’t remain the case. Sometimes, even in the fog you can see how a life’s path diverges, and I could see that Phoenix would hold her back, in the same way Lexi had outgrown this city. Some days later, after handing me a thoughtful goodbye note, she informed me that, after conveying her desire to live and work in NYC to her manager, her offer letter had been adjusted - she’d be working there next year. I had known this would happen but, still, sad. I sat in the lunchroom after a brutally lengthy meeting and read her note, and I felt like my heart had been squeezed. This must be how teachers’ feel on graduation day, when their students shake their hands, say “Thanks,” and cross the barrier from school to the real world, and some students visit post-graduation and some do not, and you know as an educator you played a part in their development, but now like a caterpillar gone butterfly, they have to go free, and experience the world on their own, and you want to be there for them, but, that’s not your role. It’s bittersweet.

1. What really made me cry? And finally, what was it that I pondered that really made my cry? Therapy sessions, moments with friends, Cherry’s note - I have come to realize that for a long while, I’ve held this incongruence image of myself compared to reality. During therapy, I took a sheet of paper and folded it in half. On one side, I wrote how I currently view myself. On the other, the woman I want to be. It was only days later, post-cry, looking in the mirror, that I realized, nothing I described about the woman I want to be is untrue. All of those admirable traits are ones I already possess. I’ve just spent so long not believing it, searching for evidence that I have failed at something, that I need to be fixed. And yes, self-improvement is great, and everyone has certain deficiencies and flaws but, overall, I have no reason to hold such a negative view of myself. And maybe, those tears were my body’s way of releasing those old negatives thoughts. The truth is: I need to love me, unabashedly!