Shadow and Sunshine

                The well of tears does not run dry this semester.  My eyes have grown moist in my professor’s office and in the back of church, in my mother’s lap and in line at In-N-Out, on the drive home and in the public restroom.

                I feel a little like Elizabeth, ashamed after reading Darcy’s letter and realizing her own prejudice. Everything I think I want comes into question, leaving me treading water in a sea of indecision. “‘Till this moment, I never knew myself.’” Except, I still don't know myself?
                And I feel like Elizabeth again, when reading the news of her sister’s elopement. Darcy happens upon her and concerned for her distressed state, asks, ‘”Is there nothing you could take, to give you present relief?—A glass of wine;--shall I get you one?—You are very ill.’” As Elizabeth, “bursts into tears,” he is left “in wretched suspense [and] could only observe her in compassionate silence.” (Admittedly, Pride and Prejudice does have its moments where it tends towards the dramatic side.)

                I’m not exactly sure exactly what my point is other than that moments of crisis—or at least moments which we perceive as a crisis—often generate a two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen response.  

                Last Friday, as I was trying to finish the frustrating process which is filing a tax return, I entered a verbal sparring match with my inkjet machine. It beeped at me as I called it names. Sitting right next to the fighting ring, my little brother calmly commented, “Alex, you know you’re acting completely inappropriate.”

                “Thank you.” I laughed. “You are absolutely right.”

                For Elizabeth, moments of crisis seem to repeatedly occur when she is reading letters—whether from Darcy or Jane. If I were her, I would cease all transcribed communication and enjoy a happy life. But in real life, tears usually happen suddenly and unexpectedly and much of the time unreasonably, such as when attempting to copy a 1040 form. Something just doesn't feel right. And thoroughly confused, I can’t figure it out, and because it’s been pushed down too long, I can’t make it stop.             

                For me, it’s usually not a letter from the man I've rejected or the elopement of one of my sisters (thank you Lord for giving me only brothers). Things that forecast a light sprinkle or a boiling thunderstorm are usually just dumb emotions which I know aren't true, but I still can’t rationalize away. So confused, I cry. And this semester has brought plenty of opportunities for muddled apprehension.

                But it has also carried with it incredible amounts of joy and excitement. So like they say that the shadow proves the sunshine, maybe the salty streams trickling from my puffy eyes lend perspective to all the goodness which travels alongside the cloudy bits.