This past Saturday night, I cried at a comedy show. I know what you’re thinking; oh she laughed until she cried, how nice for her. Um, no. It was, no doubt, an emotional weekend with the whole marathon Sunday hurdle to face. No, I wasn’t running in it; I was running from it.  Two years ago, to the day, is when I discovered my ex was lying… on more than just me.

Let’s just say I slept in come this Sunday, hoping to avoid the discs of swinging medals and foil wrapping capes. It didn’t quite work; Linus needed a walk. We hit Riverside Park; it seemed safe enough. The crowds, posters, bananas, and Poland Spring bottles would be in Central Park. Riverside was littered with marathoners. Oh joy. I sat on a bench and cried.

It wasn’t the kind of crying that comes pouring out in the middle of a run, or when you feel betrayed, despondent, or cranky. It was a peace offering really. I was somehow making peace with myself, on a bench, in the crapass park, as I watched a grandmother push a pig-tailed girl on a black rubber swing. I was in sneakers, clutching my knees in a hug. I’m going to be okay. It was a milestone.

I don’t miss him or our life together anymore. It was a day of introspection and assessment. How far have I come in the past two years? I’ve learned how to be a provider of my own happiness, the kind no one can ever take from me. I’ve learned to recognize the patterns I take which haven’t proved successful in the past. I’ve learned how to walk away from things that aren’t good for me, despite how much I might like them. But it’s all learnings from the past. I hope next year this time, I’m learning from my present, and that I’m learning new things which have been foreign to me up until now. I’m hoping to approach a whole new set of things to learn.

So why the hell was I crying at a comedy club? Because I was proud of a woman I hardly know. A woman from my Monday night writing class performed a story on Saturday night, and as she beamed on stage, I beamed in my dark seat in the corner. I was proud, so proud of this woman. I know so little about her, yet I feel like I’ve known her for years. And here’s what’s strange. If I had written this about some guy, I’d be waving red flags, analyzing the shite out of myself. But since it’s a woman, there’s no need for excuses. Maybe it’s the intimate bond that’s created by writers who “get” what you do, or maybe it’s just a crush. Either way, it was touching, important, and made me feel good. So I cried. ‘Cause that’s what I do sometimes.

View the pics from the night >>



  1. The reason I keep reading your stuff is because of posts like these. You are so true to yourself & your emotions. You're not full of shit. What you were feeling yesterday sounds like a happy sad–happy for being so resilient, sad for the events that led up to it. You're awesome. Thanks for sharing so much of what you feel with total strangers. I hope you realize how much people not only appreciate your work, but the honesty you put into it.

  2. You have grown. This all shows your ability to empathize with other people and share their happiness and sadness as well. Your tears were tears of happiness. One must know pain like you have known to appreciate the joys of happiness!
    Crying is good for the soul as is laughing.

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