Opinion
The power of crying in public, more specifically, on the 8.08am train to Central
Thomas Mitchell
Culture reporterAs far as I can tell, the Monday 8.08am train to Central is not more depressing than any other train. The doors open, and the same sea of bored-looking commuters shuffle on with a singular goal: scoring a seat. Then, it’s down to the business of ignoring everyone and everything around you by mindlessly scrolling until you arrive at your stop. Eventually, we are all spat out into the bowels of the city, but not before making an unspoken agreement to do it all over again at the end of the day.
The rinse and repeat of the daily commute has a way of dulling your emotions. Do this enough times, and soon you won’t feel anything: you won’t be sad, happy, impatient or frustrated. For the duration of the journey, you just are.
Crying in public is having a moment. Unless, of course, you get turned into a meme.Credit: Michael Howard
So you can imagine my surprise this past Monday when I found myself doing something I’d never done before: crying in public. More specifically, crying in public, on public transport.
I’d love to pretend that my tears were the result of something seismic: good news, bad news, an unexpected financial windfall following the death of an elderly relative.
Unfortunately, I stumbled into a Twitter thread featuring videos of military parents returning from Afghanistan and surprising their kids at school events.
Normally, I am immune to this kind of content, aware it exists purely for emotional manipulation. Is this video of a dog sitting by its owner’s grave sad? Yes. Will I fall for it? No.
But on this particular morning, my cynicism was no match for the forty-second video of Lieutenant Robert Kearley surprising his seven-year-old daughter, Ava, after being away for eight months on active duty. First, Kearley cried, then Ava cried, and before long, I joined in, just a tear or two. With every emotional reunion, the flood grew stronger until I was definitely crying in public.
Crying in public is one of those topics that occasionally creep into the discourse, usually driven by a high-profile example. Earlier this year, NFL player Jason Kelce (the second most famous footballer in the Kelce family after his brother Travis) announced his retirement with a candid and emotional press conference.
Before his tears could dry, the internet was heaving with think pieces celebrating the public display of emotion. “Real men cry, just ask Jason Kelce,” declared Men’s Heath. “Jason Kelce cried at retirement announcement. Why that’s a good thing,” explained USA Today.
Sadly, no one went with the headline, “Don’t Go, Jason … Waterfalls”, but the message was clear: crying in front of people is healthy, normal, cool even!
If it’s OK for Jason Kelce to cry in public, then we can all cry in public.
Stifling a sniffle, I tried to remind myself I was being healthy and cool, but if we’re being honest, I mostly felt mortified and awkward. Sure, public support for public crying might be at an all-time high, but it still feels like a decidedly private act when you’re in it.
Concerned I was causing a scene, I did what any self-respecting person would do and texted the same message to all of my different WhatsApp threads: “I am crying on the train after watching a dumb Twitter video.”
The responses ranged from empathy (“Oh no, I cry every week, don’t worry about it!”) to apathy (“I’d cry too if I had to get the train”), but my favourite reply came from a friend who sent me a link to a Reddit thread titled: Best place to cry in Sydney?
It turns out people were crying all over this fair city, from the plumbing aisle at Bunnings to the Oporto in Newtown (I actually did almost cry when it briefly went into liquidation).
Aside from the fun suggestions of where to sob, the most heartwarming takeaway was the number of strangers telling other strangers not to worry about it. Cry if you’re happy, cry if you’re sad, cry if you’re angry, cry if you’re mad!
And therein lies the magic of crying in public. While we might always try to hide our own tears, we weirdly appreciate other people crying.
With that thought in mind and feeling emboldened by my emotional breakthrough, I retweeted the video of surprise military homecomings alongside the caption: “This made me cry!”
Perhaps someone out there, I reasoned, might be encouraged by my vulnerability and return serve with their own softer side. Two hours later, there was a single comment from a troll account: “These people are probably war criminals.” Ah, the internet, it’s enough to make you cry.
Find more of the author’s work here. Email him at thomas.mitchell@smh.com.au or follow him on Instagram at @thomasalexandermitchell and on Twitter @_thmitchell.
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