emotionalism

The human experience is oftentimes excruciatingly solitary. We are conditioned to control our emotions and rein them in so that the din of sensation must reverberate silently within our chests. It is the sort of thing that ever so quietly could rust out our hearts until they echo, empty. It’s perilous, really. The act of making ourselves impregnable is risky, risky in that it often leads to emotional malignancy. We are no longer able to recognize our own feelings, to distill them and follow our hearts to where we ought to be; and OH empathy, what of that? Selfishness is growing in our society like a frightening hungry tumor.

Proof positive that, on occasion, I exhibit a non-robot face...

I am often told that I am extremely difficult to read, especially my facial expressions and gestures. My body language is ostensibly even worse. I always display the same expression for photographs and never show teeth when I smile, unless caught off guard amidst laughter. Sarcasm and dry witticism dominate my language.

But I feel, oh boy do I ever feel! I’ve got the feel for life and I follow it wherever I please. I let my emotions guide the majority of my decisions, and often make bad choices. I have no intention of ceasing this affectionate dance. I am happy even when bad things happen; I suffer through pain as we all do. Yet I always manage to welcome the poignancy of pain with appreciation. It is human to feel a plethora of emotions and the way we choose to experience them is vital to our connectivity. Rather than giving emotions a paucity of permission to exist and be expressed, why not embrace them? Y’all could be missing the remarkable verdant abundance our silly little souls have been blessed enough to encounter.