“Don't cry. Your tears will freeze.”
These were the words that kept running through my mind as I throttled forward. I had previously been at a stoplight. It was 39 degrees that sunny Tuesday morning. Heavy metal poured out my earbuds. To the right was a black sedan. The driver was a middle-aged woman with overdone hair and a little too much makeup. I didn't notice she was crying until she wiped her eyes and smeared her mascara.
At that moment, something inside me clicked. Back when I drove a cage to work everyday, that was my crying time, also. "Don't bring your issues to work," they'd say. So I cried on the way in, but it was never enough. There were always more tears the next morning. Always more rage on the afternoon ride home…
Without warning, that sympathetic part of me welled up. I felt horrible for her, and thoughts of my own struggles made me want to cry. Recognizing the way I identified with this woman only made me want to cry more. And I did start.
“Don't cry. Your tears will freeze.” That’s what I thought as I took off from the stoplight. Like a miracle, it seemed like the wind peeled away the pain and any desire to cry further. I momentarily thought back to how life was when my primary vehicle was an automobile.
It really was a cage. It's the cage our culture puts us in. You don't need it. You can be free.
Without it, you may have to give up crying on your way to work, but you may find that you have much less need to cry; that there’s much less to cry about. But if you find yourself on a motorcycle when the air temp is below 40 degrees Fahrenheit, remember my mantra.
Don't cry. Your tears will freeze.