It’s In the Water
My toddler grandson, Brooks, has a unique way of giving me a kiss. His technique is hard to describe, exactly, and it can vary slightly but the constant is that my face is sopping wet afterward, covered in his sweet slobber water. It’s very intimate.
For the record, I think a wet face is good.
The best, actually.
I remember once crying with someone I loved dearly and deliberately smushing our wet cheeks together, meshing and marrying our tears like a love pact—it was the sweetest bond.
I had an experience recently where someone I had expected more from, let me down. Thing was, I had this “problem.” And in some pretty clear terms, they said that we were not in this together. That I was on my own. A line had been drawn and that line was more like a blade that severed us. I’m certain that was not the intention, exactly, but it cut like a knife just the same.
I believe in personal responsibility. I do. Big time. So, this is not a campaign for co-dependency. The hard truth is that we sometimes have to Lone-Ranger it because lessons are often personal, individual. No one can do it for us.
But sharing a struggle or pain with someone who can help lessen our burden where appropriate and that doesn’t sabotage our autonomy is another thing altogether. When someone is decidedly “in it” with you? That’s the good stuff.
Sacred.
Communion.
I’ve never experienced a situation where crying with someone didn’t feel like a sacred moment. It’s like magic, maybe like a love potion partly infused with slobber water, or smushed tears.
Can you imagine a world where we could be a little less self-sufficient, a little less guarded, learn to cry with each other a little more often?
Even if—and maybe especially when—those communal tears come as a result of hurt or misunderstanding between the two parties. I have found that to be holy, wholly healing.
It’s better than magic, it’s cleansing, in-this-together sacred, healing water.
I’m campaigning for Project Wet Face.
‘Cause it’s in the water.