I’ve always been a champion cry-er. A girl really (REALLY) easy to tears. As I’ve grown up, I’ve gotten a little better at controlling the waterworks, but there are times when I can’t stop the flow and just have to let my tear ducts run their course. It’s especially inconvenient when I’m walking down the street, dealing with a supervisor or grocery shopping (all situations that have occurred both in the past as well as recently).

I spent a big part of yesterday crying publicly. I’ve been dealing with some disppointments with my new job (the reality of it has been very different from what I hoped and expected it to be. I now have to figure out how to release my expectations and be okay there, because face it, that’s where I am and I have it on good authority [okay, my mother] that it will get better). But before I get to okay, I have to spend some time crying, because that’s how I deal with stuff. Yesterday, the crying couldn’t wait until I got home, so I walked down Market Street, sniffling, tears dropping out of my eyes in heavy drops, behind my sunglasses, my mother trying to be supportive via the cell phone from 3,000 miles away.

When I was a sophomore in college, I was back in Portland for spring break. I had gone to Trader Joe’s to pick up some stuff for my mom and just as I got there, managed to lock my keys and wallet in the car. It was the days before cell phones were ubiquitous and I had no change to make a phone call, because my money was in the wallet, locked in the car (I believe I was able to call using a memorized calling card number, though). So what did I do? I started to cry. I had wanted so much to be productive, to do something helpful for my mom, and instead I had manufactured more work for her by creating a situation where she had to them come and meet me with keys to my car. So, I stood by the front door (come on, it’s Portland, of course it was raining) under the shelter of Trader Joe’s, weeping for a good half hour. People wear a unique expression on their face when confronted with a crying stranger. They don’t know whether to ask you if you’re okay, give you a hug or just turn away and be thankful that at least they aren’t sobbing next to the shopping carts. There was one woman, who did stop to ask if I was okay, and while there was nothing she could do, I appreciated the gesture.

Yesterday I wept while trying to grab a container of ginger peanut noodle salad from the prepared section of Trader Joe’s. I don’t know what’s with me and TJ’s (maybe because the first time I went there I was a couple days old, it must feel like home). But, if you’re in Trader Joe’s and see a girl crying in front of the prepared pizza dough, give her a hug, it might be me.