I learned to cry alone, around others and with my dog.  I learned to cry in my bedroom, at the kitchen sink and in the middle of the woods.  I learned to use movies and music to help bypass the intellect in order to purge the emotions that too often get stuck, setting up residence in my heart for weeks, months, years and even decades.  I learned to steady myself by leaning on trees while I let guttural wails escape me.  Finally, I even learned to actually appreciate the sound of my own sobs and wimpers.

     And while self-isolation has often been my go-to strategy when feeling down (“I don’t need anyone - I can keep doing this alone, I always have!”), strangely, I felt the need to phone family and long-time friends precisely to fall apart in front of them.  Part of me needed others to know that I needed them, as much as I may come across as otherwise.  But mostly, I needed to share with others that I was cracking.  I needed them to know that I was not holding it together anymore.  I needed to be known for something other than my worldly accomplishments, my intellectual prowess, my fearlessness and my resilience.  I needed a new reputation.