The Meaning of Tears

 

                                  Live close to tears. – Albert Camus

 

My annual talk at the SF Orff Course last night was reading from the draft of my new book, The Humanitarian Musician. It felt good to hear the words come off the page and out into the air to the listening ears of music teachers ripe to receive them. Both as a teacher and a musician, I’m sensitive to the feeling in the air and I could feel the deep listening as a palpable presence. It meant the words were hitting below the belt of the analytical mind and finding their way to the heart. 

 

Afterwards, four different people came up to share what the words released in them, often parallel stories testifying to the sweet or sorrowful memory of those moments in their life when they were moved by a piece of music, a teacher, a fellow musician. And each of the four in turn began to tear up as they told me their story.

 

In my talk, I suggested that our usual reaction when we cry in public—“I’m sorry!”— is a bad sign. Because when tears come forward unbidden and at surprising moments, it is because we have tapped into a memory that was tender and touching and opening us up to the full splendor of our vulnerability, willing and able to live far deeper than business-as-usual. Why apologize for that?!

I had such a moment in my talk and these four people, none of whom were my Level III students and some whose name I didn’t even yet know, were wholly comfortable sharing their story and their tears with me. We are all of us so obsessed with protecting ourselves, with hiding our deeper feelings, with denying our vulnerability, with wanting to appear to be “having a nice day” that of course we say,” I’m sorry” as if we were breaking some sacred social contract to avoid emotion at all costs. This is not healthy.

 

Of course, some degree of armor and protection is helpful in keeping the etiquette of sociality running smoothly. No one wants to be around a snifflin’ cryer 24/7. But note that Camus said, “Live close to tears.” That implies not being overwhelmed by them or crying our way through life. We simply need to be close enough so that they can appear as an invited guest when the occasion calls for it. And if we find many times when it does—speaking about a beloved teacher, recalling a beautiful sunset moment with a loved one, remembering a grandparent passing or child being born— then we indeed are living an authentic life.

 

Thanks to the many who came to the talk and those who shared further thoughts afterwards. And now, after yet another stellar day teaching, the weekend beckons.