Crybaby

We were traveling in Peru with a psychologist friend and we had each gone separate ways for the afternoon. In front of a monastery was a guy in rags. I'd never looked alienation in the face until I saw this guy, he seemed profundly disturbed and unable to relate to man or beast, utterly beyond reach. It made me want to scream, or run, or I don't know what: like a chemical reaction it totally unsettled me.

I decided that I would sit there, with him, not too far. Sit there and not say a thing, wait for a sign to come from him. Lots of people stopped for me: what are you doing there? Are you alright? I asked them about this guy; how long has he been there? Do the monks not care?

-This one you know, he's just like that, it's sad but there's nothing we can do
-The monks have tried but it's too difficult
-I know, this is really sad, someone would usually just give him some food on
market days

I stayed for a while. I got zero signs from this guy. I bought him a pack of pralines and walked back home. I was mega bugged. My friend Helen asked me what was wrong and I just cried convulsively for twenty minutes. She was worried about me now. In pure psychologist fashion she said "this guy is not the reason why you're crying, there must be something else, that was just the trigger, you must be really sad about something else, and this is just the excuse you've got to cry, what else is making you sad? You should talk to someone if you feel like that". Now there was something wrong with me.

Psychology was telling me that whenever I think I feel for someone else, I really don't feel for them at all: human beings are just a bundle of selfish motives anyway, and these motives get expressed in socially acceptable ways. Psychology could uncover these hidden motives, teach me how to deal with them and turn me into a happy consummer.

I'm sure that there's some truth in this, but I don't think that's the whole truth. When I'm sad I cry like a newborn until it passes. I don't even care what my motives are. But now I either lock my bedroom door first or I choose to be with friends who know that they do the same when they're sad, and are therefore not in the least freaked out by it.

Another friend once told me: "you cry like a baby, it's almost soothing, I haven't cried in fifteen years". She had had two abortions, and lots of problems but she was a tough one. I almost said: look let's get a bottle of wine and feel sad about stuff. I promise you that we'll come out on the other side with angelic smiles. Still, like in Dante's divine comedy, we've got to cross hell first. Then we can rejoice like mad people in the joys of purgatory: there life still sucks, but now you've got hope and you've taken on God's gentle yoke and you're so unspeakably grateful you feel like crying for joy.