Fighting the Frisson while Holding on to Hootie's Hand

Sometimes I cry.

There is no getting around it. I can't help it or stop it when it starts coming on.

When I traded in my cap that said "RECRUIT" for one that said "NAVY" during the capping ceremony after Marlinspike, tears were streaming. Lee Greenwood's "I'm proud to be an American" was playing on blast, and I could not dam the leak.

When, in 1996, I sat in a dark theatre with two of my friends and watched on the silver screen Bill Pullman's speech rallying the troops toward the end of Independence Day, my eyes were unable to stay dry. All three times that night that we watched it.

When I see this one Rocket Mortgage commercial with all the troops singing together the lyrics "I belong..." from the John Denver song, "Country Roads" - I'm done. That whole commercial gets me, and I don't even particularly remember liking that song before that commercial.

Whenever I hear "Let Her Cry" by Hootie and the Blowfish, it's me that's crying while singing with the radio at the top of my lungs hoping the people beside me at the stop light don't think me insane or in need of BetterHelp. Especially during the callback of the bridge when he recites a time, not much unlike a time or two like mine, where the lyricist tried to leave while his lover finds ecstasy through drugs in the solitude of a back room, do I feel the tears like rain drops upon my cheeks. When the lyricist calls back to "Hold My Hand" at the end of the bridge saying, "Oh mama, please help me! Won't you hold my hand and..." I feel like he gets me. The mix of those two songs get me like very few people do.

I'm told it is "frisson." It's a trait of the emotional genius. I don't know if there is anything genius about it, but maybe I am tapped into more emotions than some. I can tell you though, I have an uncanny ability to compartmentalize tragedy or the destruction around me in order to press on and move forward. When it comes to music and moving pictures, though, my whole world can implode. I don't know why or where it comes from, but sometimes there are two drivers at the wheel and most of the time my body is in control of my physical side, but every now and then, my emotional side grabs the wheel and basically says "peace out, bitches," doing whatever it my please with my emotional state in the process.

At this point, I don't think there is a cure. But, I'm OK with that. I wouldn't want to live without the memories I see when this "frisson" occurs. The friends I've left behind, my family on the other side of the continent, my sons I rarely see and one I will never see again in person. I wouldn't trade away my tears for all the gold, success, or dry eyes in the world. It's just not who I am.