More work in progress. I’ve had quite a useful week. Celebrated by cycling out into Somerset, as yesterday was bright and sunny. Snowdrops everywhere, and mistle thrushes throwing their voices across the valleys, as they like to do.
I listened to Desert Island Discs on Friday. Howard Jacobson was the castaway. He made several references to crying, including
“When I was choosing the music for this and I played them, I sobbed over half of them. I cry a lot now when I hear music and I use music for crying.”
“I’ll be doing a lot of sobbing. I very much doubt I’ll survive.”
I felt a little uncomfortable about this, and then thought, “Why are you uncomfortable? What’s wrong with Howard talking about crying? Isn’t he being open and honest and in-touch-with-his-feelings? Surely that’s a good thing?”
And maybe it is.
It used to bother me that I was apparently incapable of crying; I thought it might mean that I was repressed, emotionally constipated or something. I did actually do it a few times in the summer that I started taking female hormones; it was quite an intense time, and not just hormonally. And it felt rather good to cry; a temporary surrender to something elemental. Like an orgasm, perhaps, but without the mess.
It was a passing phase… these days, I don’t do it. Though it doesn’t bother me that I don’t. I notice that it is not entirely unknown for trans women to describe how something has made them cry, though, as though it were a badge of feminine sensibility. I wonder if for them, too, it is just a phase? I can’t think of any of my friends, male or female, who either talk about crying or who have cried in my company.
What do you reckon?