I’ve noticed that I’m crying more, or at least shedding a few more tears. I’ve always been fairly in touch with my emotions, but in the last few years, I have definitely been prone to the odd weep far more often than I used to. I’ve tried to work out what has happened or perhaps what is happening, but not got far. I have theories. The pandemic knocked the stuffing out of me, watching the daily figures and dealing with at least two children who’d lost their fathers early on. The relentless horrors of the relentless news cycles have eroded any resilience and resistance, leaving me helpless and only able to acknowledge these tragedies with tears.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve shed inhibitions and replaced them with a desire to feel everything and display those feelings, despite it being involuntary. I have far more people I know and care about at the age of 61 than I did at 21.
All the above are undoubtedly true, and perhaps combined, they would explain how most days, tears are shed. The pictures from Gaza, the stories from Ukraine, and other places of conflict. These are, of course, natural displays of helpless empathy. But there are other instances, seemingly of less import, but just as real and heartfelt. In the last week; the scene between Carmen and his mother when he cooks her chicken in The Bear, speaking to my daughter on the phone, walking with the dog around a mist covered lake early in the morning, Witchita Lineman on the radio, Natalie Merchant on BBC 4’s Mastertapes and last night sitting in a field watching shooting stars streak across the night sky (see photo with apologies to Edward Hopper!).
I’m fairly sure I’m not that unusual, and I’m also sure that I’m glad I feel these things, although sometimes it does threaten to overwhelm.
So it’s got to be Glen (and this is a great version as well as being very emotional) and Natalie. The radio is littered with new and old and features Cory Hanson, a celebration of David Crosby, and some exquisite Dylan. As ever…
