Sometimes crying is super important. You don’t have to cry over a specific person, or a specific event, or a specific thing, but sometimes you really just gotta cry.
This was me last night. Sitting cross-legged on my bed, clutching a bowl of leftover hibachi fried rice that was barely lukewarm because I couldn’t wait for the microwave to count down for a full minute, sobbing loudly and sporadically while my cat sat a careful five feet away from me, tail twitching with disdain.
Granted, I was a little drunk, but this was not your typical drunk crying. No, the forcefulness of my machine gun sobs indicated this was more of a the-weight-of-the-world-is-on-my-shoulders-and-I-need-a-fucking-bucket-of-fried-chicken cry. From an outside perspective, I can see why this would be appear fairly pathetic- I mean, what do I have to cry about?
I’m graduating from law school this year, I already have a job, I just got a super prestigious scholarship to help pay for my law school debt, I’m spending my final semester abroad in the UK… blah, blah, blah, shut the fuck up and stop complaining, right? I think Bridget Jones said it best:
It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces.
For anyone who has ever read a single entry of my blog, you know that I have the worst taste when it comes to men, and this translates into a non-existent love life, which, if I do say so myself, makes superb entertainment for my friends. I mean, I’m a generally comical girl and I definitely know how to tell a great story, but I think my soul goes through periods of exhaustion while navigating the social atmosphere of the 21st century and attempting to stay constantly upbeat. It’s not about a love life per say, it’s about a general lack of intimacy. Thus, crying and eating hibachi rice.
But, god, did I feel fantastic afterwards.
You see, I’m actually okay being single. For where I am in my life, it makes the most sense. In less than three months I will be trekking around a different country, and then 6 months after that I will be moving to the other side of the United States. You don’t have a life plan such as that and then spend your time searching for your life partner. No, that sort of thing is better left for when you’ve gotten yourself a bit more settled. But, I still crave intimacy.
I crave the rush you get when you’re sitting across the table from someone and you catch them watching you, a small smile on their lips, admiration in their eyes.
I crave the moments in life you share with another person, knowing they were exactly who you wanted to share that moment with. It’s not about love, it’s not about a promise of forever, it’s about two people, in a certain moment, just being content with closeness.
Our souls need that. Well, mine does at least. But, as I’ve grown older, I’ve noticed this sort of thing scares many guys, particularly the ones in my life. We, as humans, are relationship-prone creatures. Every interaction we have is a relationship. Some are brief, some are extensive, some are awful, some are wonderful, some are romantic, some are platonic, some are forgettable, and some are earth-shattering and redefine who we are. Every single one of these interactions has a very important thing in common, however: they make up who we are as people.
So, I guess the point of this post, in writing about “letting it out,” is to send a very simple message:
Every relationship has a purpose. You learn something from every interaction you have, consciously or not, and if you shy away from them, you might find yourself sitting on your bed at 2 o’clock in the morning, crying into a bowl of rice because your soul was missing the proper outlets to get its shit together.
Intimacy. It’s a thing, trust me.