Moved beyond tears
Cry me an ocean. A. v. Z./Flickr/CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 I've long documented on this blog my propensity for overemotional ninnyness, yet I continue to surprise myself with when and why I cry ... and when and why I don't. Here, three recent lachrymose vignettes. A Moment When I Didn't Expect to Cry, But Did Last month I had the opportunity to visit Georgetown's School of Continuing Studies campus for the first time, which meant it was also my first opportunity to meet my facilitation instructors in person. (My height-of-pandemic-era program had been entirely virtual.) When I arrived at the classroom, I poked my head around the doorway, saw the lecture was in session, and ducked back behind the wall. But one of my teachers had spotted me, and she left her spot in front of the class to come greet me in the hallway. Her wordless hug was one of the tightest I've ever received, and I was startled to discover that while I know the contours of my teacher's heart, I didn'
