One summer, I trekked the rocky path up to the local waterfalls on a semi-weekly basis. I was recovering from an intense chapter in my life and the falls had become my only refuge. When visiting them, I found solitude, spiritual clarity, and, most importantly, emotional connection.
Sometimes, I would stop short of the top waterfalls and climb up a hidden rock that overlooked the path; other times, I would strip off my shoes and socks to drench myself directly under the falls. No matter where I chose to spend my time, my experience was often the same: I imagined time slipping away dismally, as the water streaming down the mountain ate away at the rocks; I awed at the age of the forest, and felt proud for its survival. I imagined all the lives that had crossed through these trees before I did, the wonderment that thousands of years had passed in a single spot. I thought about the Lenape tribe, the natives who had called this their home long before we came, and my heart ached. I pondered what this place meant to them--if they loved it the way I did, sought the connection of God here the way I did. Did they fear it the way I did? Did they miss it when they were driven away? I thought about how many people had died here, becoming heavy with grief over how many deaths were still to come. Would I ever be one of them?
When I was there, I lived in a moment of pure presence. Briefly, all of my life escaped me, and I felt the ecstacy of complete emotional embrace. I would leave each of these visits with an intoxicating rush of rejuvenation, sadness, clarity, and peace.
Why, you ask, would anyone seek to feel such an array of strong emotions?
Emotional intensity is a cornerstone of my temperament. To many, extreme emotions are viewed as a faulty character trait. An obstruction to productivity, perhaps even an interference with sanity. Illogical, impractical, irrational. Think with your head, not with your heart, and you'll be better off for it. Right?
Luckily, I've never really been the type to be better off.
Much of my life is based around emotional experiences. I enjoy deep emotional connections with my friends and loved ones; in fact, I encourage it. I thrive on the elation of love; am comfortably conversant in the sadness of heartbreak; grow eagerly giddy at the fear of something unfamiliar. The joy of accomplishment, the rage of betrayal...all of these feelings are the elements that crack me, break me, and reshape my character. I am confident to face the innermost pieces of myself and consistently seek to understand and connect all that is within.
To some, this is probably viewed as crazy. Why attach yourself to all that? Why allow yourself to go so deep, to risk being hurt that much more, to become lost in feelings that may not even matter in a week?
Because without my emotions, I don't believe I would possess the ability to tap into the truly good parts of myself, of others, and the world. Only when I have been thoroughly broken can I truly empathize with the brokenness in others; only because I love intensely can I see through worst in people and find the beauty that lies within; only because I have truly embraced the pain am I able to hold tight to the joy.
Maybe I am oversensitive, overly susceptible to pain and criticism, and too forgiving of faults. But that's okay. I would see the world for all of its chaotic beauty rather than hide in a protective shell. Life is short, unpredictable, and filled with wonder. Live it with your eyes open, feel all that it has to give, and embrace every interaction as if it could be your last <3
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