Alright, hear me out—why do my tear ducts have the emotional range of a Shakespearean tragedy? I’m not talking about crying over actual sad things, like heartbreak, taxes, or accidentally sending a risky text to the wrong person. No, I mean standing in the grocery store, staring at a perfectly ordinary carrot, and feeling an existential crisis brewing in my chest.
Like, why is this carrot so orange? Why does it look like it has seen things? Why is there a lump in my throat over a root vegetable?
This isn’t just about carrots, of course. It’s about me—someone who can shed a tear over a well-timed dog commercial, a cloud shaped like a turtle, or an old man peacefully drinking his coffee alone at a café. You’d think I had a tragic backstory that warranted this level of emotional upheaval. But no, I just… feel things. Deeply. Loudly. Often inconveniently.
The worst part? It sneaks up on me. One minute I’m fine, the next I’m getting misty-eyed because a stranger held the elevator for me. Or because the barista spelled my name correctly for once. Or because my favorite pen finally ran out of ink, and we’d been through so much together.
And don’t even get me started on my friends. Their faces cycle between concern, amusement, and straight-up bewilderment whenever I launch into an impromptu sob session over God-knows-what this time. “Again?” they ask. “Is it the birds this time or a particularly well-constructed sentence?”
But here’s the thing: I’m learning to embrace it.
For so long, I thought my tendency to cry over nothing made me weak. I thought it meant I was fragile, too emotional, too much. But as it turns out, the ability to feel everything—even the tiny, ridiculous things—isn’t a flaw. It’s a gift.
Because for every time I’ve wept over an inanimate object, I’ve also felt deep joy in the smallest, simplest moments. For every teary grocery store crisis, there’s an equal moment of pure, heartwarming awe at how strangely wonderful life is.
And maybe that’s not such a bad way to live.
So if you, too, find yourself crying over a sunset that hits just right, or a dog that looks at you like you’re the chosen one, don’t fight it. Let the emotions wash over you. Feel it all. Even the weird stuff.
After all, this world could use a little more softness, a little more wonder—and maybe, just maybe, a few more people crying in the produce aisle.
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