(Not) Crying Over You.

I used to envy babies.

Not for acceptable poops in public, encouraged naps, and luxury of living life without the worry of bills and heartbreak, though all of those make very fine points.

No.

I used to envy babies because of the ease in which they got to cry in public. People don’t like it, that’s for sure, but that’s because babies haven’t yet quite perfected the art of silent crying, of which I am a pro at.

Growing up, society taught me not to behave like that, that if I did have to cry, I was to save it for a private setting, as being emotional and vulnerable wasn’t something people wanted to see.

Well if you don’t know by now, I cry. A LOT. And you’ll also notice that I used the past tense because if I’ve learned anything in my wee 24 years of living, it’s not to hold back how I’m feeling.

That being said, I have cried in public many times. I’ve let loose a few tears at work, in the bathroom (who hasn’t?), at the club, whilst shopping, on the bus, on BART, walking the street, on DATES, and at many restaurants and coffee shops alike. And yet, I have never cried in a yoga class.

Until recently.

Gotta be a first for everything, right?

My friend had invited me to a blissful flow class, and so on a rainy weekday night, I headed over, mat in hand.

A mixture of wanting to spend time with my friend and wanting to work on my mental and physical health, I also selfishly was hoping that my crush would be there, as he was a frequent yogi at this particular establishment.

Catching up on the mat before class started, another regular yogi came in. She started talking to my friend and all of a sudden, I hear the gal ask my friend:

“So I hear (my crush) asked you out today! But you have a boyfriend...”

Like a bullet to the heart, I sat there stunned, as shocked and mortified as my friend was likely feeling. Not having been told that my crush had asked out my best friend, I started digesting this bit of information as emotions began flooding my face.

At first, I felt Disappointment. I started to self-sabotage, thinking, of course he asked her out. I knew he had a crush on her. Everyone does. It’s like middle school again, I’m chopped liver. Because why would anyone like me? It’s not like anyone’s ever liked me before, why would now be any different? What’s wrong with me? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME.”

But I’m working on recognizing when these horrible notions permeate themselves in my subconscious, so I quickly erased those negative thoughts.

Close one door and another one opens, and in this doorway, in came Hurt.

Not hurt about my crush asking my best friend out, but hurt at how she didn’t tell me first.

I get it. I get it. It’s awkward! I have this fat crush on someone and he turns around and goes for my best friend.. What would anyone do in that situation?

Like a scene in a movie, or that exciting chapter in that book where the secret they attempted to keep hidden suddenly blows up in their face, we both sat there in awkward silence. In a fight or flight scenario, she chose to flight and I was left sitting there on my mat while she occupied herself out front with the teacher, avoiding… well, me.

In my experience, lack of communication is the trigger for all the bad relationships I’ve ever had, and I have mostly ever experienced bad ones. Sitting there on the mat suffering through this blow, when I needed my friend most, she avoided me, disappearing into child’s pose beside me when class did finally start, avoiding communication altogether.

Sitting on the block in what was supposed to be an evening of zen and focus on the breath, it took all of my willpower not to full on bawl.

The tears though? They came on their own accord. Remember being a pro at silent crying?

Big, fat, wet, quiet, continuous drops began making a pitter patter onto my mat, collecting themselves into a puddle of heartbreak as my fellow yogis continued on with their practice.

I didn’t get through five minutes of the class.

Unable to sit next to my friend and avoid the semi-truck of emotions coursing through my veins, I quietly gathered up my mat and left. There was no way I could sit through a session feeling the way that I felt and next to the person who made me feel the way that I did.

Calling up those in my phone book who have been there by my side when I have fallen down before, I was hugged and encouraged, and by the end of the night, I was surprised at the quickness in which I had already moved on from what had happened.

As sad at it is to admit that I’m becoming numb to all the unlucky encounters involving men in my life, I truly feel that I am becoming stronger, wiser, and more knowledgeable when it comes to what’s real and what’s not.

The excuses I make about guys being too shy, too intimidated, unsure as to my status so they don’t ask me out? It’s all bull poop. The right guy won’t leave me questioning whether he has feelings for me or not.

And this guy obviously didn’t have feelings for me.

He had feelings for my friend!

Haaaaaaa.

But that’s okay.

At the end of the night, I crossed his name off the list, at least grateful that I knew he for sure didn’t have feelings for me, and I snuggled under the covers in the comfort of my own skin.

And for the first time after a heartbreak, I fell asleep, tear free…

Conversation Starter.

Not one month ago, my journal was used as an escape outlet.

Surrounded by a sea of people I knew but didn’t know I pulled my journal out of my purse and occupied my time by filling its pages with the thoughts running through my head that I didn’t have a face to share them with.

I’ve done this once or twice before. In an attempt to distract myself from facing the social awkwardness that often comes when I’m in a situation in which I’m the black sheep, I tear through my bag in search of my journal and relief floods through me as I put pen to paper and write out my discomfort.

All too aware that I sometimes avoid potentially incredible conversations (but most likely not since most of the situations in which I do this involve being in a bar setting and I definitely want to avoid being bombarded by a drunk doofus), I began to mull this particular avoidance strategy the other day as I sat with my coffee, writing in my journal just willing someone to come over and chat with me.

And guess what.

It worked.

In an ironic turn of events, the very document in which I commonly use to avoid social situations turned out to be the magnet that begot conversation. On top of that, it was this document that ended up being the conversation starter. A simple “What are you working on?” opened the doors and conversation about my writing ensued.

Now I wasn’t avoiding this conversation, per say, but I was nervous as to how to proceed with someone I really wanted to talk to and get to know. I’m not the greatest small talk socialite, so I did what I do best when I’m awkward and I wrote, which magically turned out to be the prologue to our chit chat.

As we began to talk, I opened up about what exactly was in these pages of mine, and I began to realize that writing is a pretty marvelous conversation starter. Here are some reasons why:

1.) You can’t exactly be on your phone and hope your crush walks over to you asking “What are you working on?” Creepy, right? But with a journal? Totally normal.

2.) It’s not a common activity practiced in society and is as rare as one reading a book or playing cards to pass the time. I like doing things that aren’t a common activity practiced in society, as you can tell.

3.) It’s my thing. And if there’s one way to be yourself, it’s to embrace that thing, whatever it may be.

By the end of our chinwag (*British for having a chat), I was beyond grateful that for once, my writing ended up not being an escape tool to awkwardly write out my frustrations at being unable to muster up the strength to talk to someone I liked, but as an invitation to get to know me.

As the gentleman stood up to leave, he apologized for disrupting my writing and I smiled to myself thinking, “Oh, but you’ve now given me something to write about.”

And here we are..