stroopwafel

It’s not easy being the kind of person whose emotions lay in wait on the top of the surface ready to pounce-regardless of location, appropriateness, and convenience.

Hello, my embarrassment screams, look how red I can get while it shimmies around with a top hat and cane. When I’m touched by a cheesy commercial…here come the tears again with as much exuberance as Oprah announcing that there is a present under your seat.

Last week in NJ, I walked into the poultry farm with Josh, a place my mom used to frequent, to pick up chickens (they were cooked) for dinner. The minute I saw Kyle, the owner, who doesn’t know me from a hole in the wall, mind you, I burst out crying.

I managed to rattle off some incoherent words like, “hi…Lindsay…Florida…my mom, Sue…loved you.

I stood there thinking of all the times I would be home and would hear her on the phone sharing some bit of irrelevant information while she ordered chicken to accompany corn and tomatoes. Her voice, an octave higher and Kyle on the receiving end now with the knowledge that I was home for 10 days and having my period.

I couldn’t contain myself. She loved it there and I felt her in the room while Kyle stood there cutting meat off the bones of the poor birds.

It’s a familiar scene for me; the swirling of emotion, missing my mom, and getting nostalgic for the way things were. I feel thankful I had a mom I loved so much and in turn, one I miss so much. I feel grateful to be standing with someone who gets it and for my siblings who still live there and feel like home. And also for my husband who loves me despite of or because of my tendency for expressive and some may say excessive outbursts of emotion.

When I screamed at the cannon going off at a nice club in Nantucket at sunset for instance, contrary to what my brother-in-law thought, I wasn’t trying to be inappropriate, I don’t like loud noises and it scared the heck out of me. But my sister warned me beforehand and then laughed when the warning didn’t quite suffice. Let’s say, I have never taken Madonna’s words to “express yourself” lightly. And maybe think twice before bringing me to a private club.

Kyle said unflinchingly even with all my tears watering the premises, “Your mom was the best.” And then, “we never stop missing our moms, do we?” Turns out his mom died around the same time as mine. She used to work there after spending the day teaching at the local elementary school.

For some reason, this information made me want to cry even harder. Small town, kindness, innocence, things staying the same and then one day, not. It was bittersweet.

The poor older gal in the market at the same time as us, looked shocked as if she had seen a ghost when she saw me crying. She whispered to Kyle on the way out. I’m not sure what she said but my imagination tells me she was asking for confirmation about who I was, who my mom was, and whether or not I was stable.

Josh and I got in the car with our chickens, mashed potatoes, and mac and cheese and had to find an ATM. We owed them $7 in cash. Only when in NJ, must you carry cash, and you can’t pump your own gas either. I simultaneously love this about the Garden State, and it drives me crazy. I continued to cry and laugh at my crying and then talk about my mom and then laugh in between my fits and spurts of tears.

I don’t love identifying as Leaky Lindsay, the name of the garbage pail kid card from the 80’s, but over the years, I have come to try and accept my readily available tears, sensitivity, vulnerability, and lack of ability to compartmentalize - as uncomfortable as it is.

I have a couple of friends when I tear up, they do too, and it makes me feel like we’re sharing a soul. It makes me love them that much more.

When I got home a few days later, grateful to have survived the flight, (I get anxious about travelling) and to see our dog and cat also alive and kicking, I was deeply thankful for the Dove chocolates sitting in a glass bowl on the kitchen counter. I immediately ate a couple (maybe 3 – no judgment) and looked at one of the wrappers, “Spread kindness like confetti,”, it read.

When our world feels scary and mean, kindness keeps me grounded, hopeful. It feels like an anchor. And sometimes, it’s all I can do. Be kind to myself and to others.

I do this when there is turbulence on the plane, I get very nice to everyone around me because I’m terrified and why not? Mam, would you like a cough drop? Sir, you dropped this (this being a crumb from the Stroopwafel and yes I googled, “the waffle thing they give you on a plane” to remember what it’s called). As far as coping mechanisms go, I guess this one isn’t half bad. I also try to give people the benefit of the doubt unless they are total a-holes and then I flick him off under my seat.

At the airport earlier that day, Newark to be exact, an airport not often associated with rainbows and angels but one I have been in many times and experienced both, I spotted an elderly woman sitting alone in a wheelchair. She seemed too fragile with sunken cheekbones and eyes to be traveling alone and I worried about her.

But then a woman from the airline appeared with long eyelashes that fluttered like butterfly wings and a great big smile. She pointed to herself and then to the gate, telling the woman, sweetly, “I got you.” “I’m going to take care of you and get you to that gate.” She was flamboyant and perfect and I fell in love with her. She floated onto the scene like Glinda the Good Witch and left in the same way.

Again, I wanted to cry. I was so moved watching how careful and attentive she was with this stranger. How present she was and how damn good she was at her job.

I walked up and told her that I noticed how sweet she was and that if it was my family member that needed help, I would want her to be the one to help them.

Her dewy eyes sparkled, and she told me that she just couldn’t help herself, that she was enthusiastic about helping elderly people. She used to work in a nursing home. It was who she was. Sometimes they wanted her to tone it down, she admitted, which made me chuckle. She thanked me, touching my arm and wishing me well.

Later, when the plane took off, I thought to myself that “see something, say something” shouldn’t just apply to seeing something suspicious but when spotting something kind and beautiful too.

I mean what if we all walked around expressing our appreciation and gratitude when we felt it move through us?  It would be awkward as heck probably and most likely, incredibly wonderful.

Just like that lovely woman that worked for the airline couldn’t help her exuberant way of helping others, I sure as heck can’t help crying. And believing that despite how messed up our world is, there is goodness too.

What makes us weird is also what makes us wonderful. And if not everyone around you gets that, that’s okay, you do. Now go out there and enjoy your weird ass self this summer.

*Also watch the movie, Cha Cha Real Smooth on Apple TV.

**Also also, if you want to hang out with me and be weird and enjoy the company of other women this Fall after the summer fades and you are desperately trying to get your act together for the upcoming holiday season and just in general because maybe you had too many margaritas over the summer, check out info on a retreat I’m co-hosting at www.joyfulreset.com. I know it’s pricey but if you can make it work, it will be worth it! Desert hikes, sparkly skies, spa treatments, writing, and getting down to business (like soul business, like getting to the good meaty, transformative stuff) yoga, meditative painting, and heaps of love and laughter, tips and tools to keep you feeling good, you get the drift…we’d love to have you join us. October 16th - 19th in Tucson, Az at Miraval. Sign up soon because space is limited!