crying

I cried three times today. 

The first was over something silly.  I got frustrated because I couldn’t figure out how to do something quite simple.  Like open a door, or unlock a bike, or some other such thing that should be easy, but, because I’m in a different county, it turns into something so complex that even my PhD training doesn’t seem to help, and I end up feeling like an idiot, and because I'm in unfamiliar surroundings, and I'm surrounded by unfamiliar people, I feel more alone and raw and emotional than usual.  So, I cried because I was frustrated.

The second time, I was walking along one of the Copenhagen's lakes that used to be motes, and I saw a rosebush festooned with lavender blooms.  I stopped—literally to smell the roses—and was so stirred by the scent, that I cried.  I cried actual tears because that flower smelled so indescribably beautiful that I didn’t know how to express my appreciation and emotion.  So my body helped me out, and my emotions spilled, and I didn’t need to say or do anything else.

The third time was mere minutes later, walking along another one of the lakes that used to be motes.  I heard music so beautifully haunting that I stopped breathing.  A Romany man was playing an accordion with such depth and intensity that I was thoroughly overwhelmed.  The music was sad, and the man was sad, and the man and his music shared all that sadness with me, and I remembered my own sadness and became overwhelmed.  And I cried.