Michelle Richmond

What Makes You Cry?

There’s a wonderful scene in Broadcast News in which Jane Craig, played by Holly Hunter, unplugs the phone in her hotel room, sits down on the bed, and starts weeping and wailing. She cries passionately for several minutes before pulling herself together and confidently going about her business. Later, one realizes that crying is part of the character’s daily routine. I love the scene, not only because Hunter makes crying funny, but because it shows crying in all its cathartic and narcissistic glory, crying as ritual and refresher, crying as a near-religious experience.

My son came home recently talking about a birthday party for a girl named Ruby, to which he hadn’t been invited. “At first I was sad, but now I’m so glad I didn’t get invited,” he said.

“Why are you glad?”

“It was a princess party,” he said. “It made Jack and Joey cry.”

Jack and Joey are twins, and their play dates with my son invariably involve light sabers, wrestling, swords, and other forms of pretend violence. Their own birthday party this year had a pirate theme. They probably had great expectations for Ruby’s birthday party. I imagined Jack and Joey bursting into tears upon realizing that they were surrounded by girls in princess dresses and giant pink balloons. I have to admit I couldn’t stop laughing when my son told me, so earnestly, about Jack and Joey crying at the princess party.

Of course, to the twins, the princess party was no laughing matter. Their tears were real. Disappointment is a powerful thing. As adults, most of us remember well a few instances in our childhood that made us cry with abandon.I have vivid memories of crying in Mrs. Monk’s first grade class at Greystone Christian School in Mobile, Alabama, during a lesson about clocks. Mrs. Monk was a kind and gentle teacher, and she came over to ask me what was the matter. “I don’t understand time,” I cried. I still don’t. A couple of years later, another incident at Greystone brought me to tears. My third grade class had had a potato-growing contest. Each student had brought a potato to school, stuck it in a jar of water, and waited for it to sprout buds. My potato exceeded all expectations and, much to my astonishment, won the contest. Read the rest of this post at My Year of Questions.

My Year of Questions

As the mother of a six-year-old boy, my days, more often than not, begin with questions. Our son has a habit of bounding into our bed around six each morning and awakening us with something like this: “Who would win in a fight–Batman or the Incredible Hulk? Which is beautifuler–a sunset or a rainbow?” (see the new blog, My Year of Questions).

Many of his questions begin with why: “Why haven’t scientists figured out how to turn sand into time? Why do kids sometimes act like your friend and sometimes growl at you?” And then there are the ifs, which are often posed as a test of my love: “If you had to choose between the whole world getting eaten up in a black hole or me being dead, which would you choose?”

It has recently occurred to me that it has been a long time since I asked big questions and truly pondered the answers. One of my favorite lines in literature comes from Walker Percy’s novel The Moviegoer: “To become aware of the possibility of a search is to be onto something. Not to be onto something is to be in despair.” A search by its very nature inspires growth. What is a search if not a series of questions, one building upon the next?

So, in the spirit of not acting my age–in the spirit of acting, indeed, like my six-year-old son–I have decided, beginning now, to start asking questions. As of today, I am embarking on a search. I will tell you straight out of the gate that I have no idea what I’m searching for. While I haven’t quite pinned down the purpose of the search, I have decided upon a method: a question a week, every week, for a year. Because I believe that the best discoveries often happen in unexpected places, I’m placing no limitations on the kinds of questions I ask. They will run the gamut from personal to political, scientific to metaphysical, spiritual to secular. I will share my questions and answers on my new blog, My Year of Asking Questions, and my sincere hope is that my questions will inspire you to ask, and answer, your own. The comments section is always open. Let the year of asking questions begin..

Go here to read this post in full. And please bookmark and share the URL of my new blog, My Year of Asking Questions: http://myyearofoquestions.michellerichmond.com.

What would you choose?

I recently came across an interesting exercise, in which you are asked to read a paragraph about two very different sorts of lives, and choose which one you would prefer to live. Choice one: the world adores you and bows to you, and all is beautiful, comfortable, and glorious…with a catch. In the other, you live the very life you are leading now. Go ahead, read the choices, and answer any or all of the questions below. And please share some of your more surprising or personally illuminating responses in the comments section!

Have I already made this choice? Many times? Have I ever awakened from a wonderful dream and somewhat reluctantly entered the “real world?”
Have I ever had a dream that I would re-enter forever? What is it about “real life” that competes so easily with dream worlds which have their wonderfully intense emotions and activities? What can I do to be more aware of this value I place upon my “real life?”
How is my childhood now like a dream I have had? Would I re-enter and relive my childhood?
What pleasures of life have now passed “forever” and are now something “outgrown?” My childhood toys? My youthful desires? My adult plans? Which of these are now like dreams I have had but do not need to re-run? What parts of my life right now are transitioning into “old news” that no longer is alluring?
How do I spot the future towards which my present life is pointing? What can I do to make the transitions easier?
How does ordinary life normally “process” my “desire sets?” What is it about the passage of time that transmutes and/or extinguishes desires?
After I die will any part of my life escape this “dreamification” process? What will I look back on that I will want to re-enter? Will I be “finished with desires” when I die?
How do I know the “evolutionary” value of “getting rid of a desire?” What do I gain from doing so?
How do I embrace “me now” when I know it will one day be “that old me?”
How am I always like a child?
How is my future wrought from my innocence?

The News from Japan

Iwate Prefecture — by David Gilkey for NPR

The Japan Times is an excellent English-language new source for up-to-the minute information on the crisis in Japan, reported from within the country.

NPR has a blog dedicated to the crisis. Updates appear every half hour.

While the nuclear crisis escalates, The New Scientist offers an encouraging perspective on why this won’t be “another Chernobyl.” (via NPR)