Heaving Tears on My Bike Ride

I Cried It Out. (Maybe, You Need That Too?)

It happened again this afternoon, on a fairly routine bike ride around White Rock Lake, in Dallas. Minutes in, I was both peddling hard, and also falling into chest-heaving tears.

Thank God for tinted shades, I guess.

When I say this has happened before, I should be clear, it doesn’t happen often. I’ve documented well over 1,000 revolutions around White Rock Lake in Dallas, during my thirty years of cycling here.

But, now and then, at specific “thin place” moments of bodily stress, out comes an avalanche of heaving tears.

The body, it seems, knows. The body, as we are told, “keeps the score.” It knows what the mind pretends not to, or pushes down. But push the body just enough, in just the right situation, and it all comes up to the surface, whether you’re ready or not.

That’s most definitely what happened to me today. And, again, this isn’t at all a “usual thing” for an afternoon ride. But I can point to crucial moments over these years where, unbidden and suddenly, there are the shockingly strong, heaving tears.

The year my Dad died.
The year my Mom did too.
That one year I was incredibly burned out and alone in ministry.
The first pandemic year.

I used to ride the White Rock Creek trail, up and down. And for many years, there was a particular 100 yard stretch that made me weepy. An early morning jogger had been sensely, horrifically, murdered there by a mentally confused homeless person. My dear clergy sister, Kerri Smith, led a short memorial prayer at the spot. And, for a very long time, especially if it was close to sunset, I could not pass that spot without weeping, just thinking about it all.

Today’s tears, I am confident, were a complicated mix of things.
Copious personal stress, right now.
Greiving a shocking number of friends who’ve died this year.
The weight and heft of church members and their growing feelings and axieties.
Other friends, musicians, neighbors…who I can feel are on edge.
Shrieking headlines, every day. Hell, every hour.

If you are a feeling person —led, as I am, by empathy, compassion, and intuiton— this time we are in right now feels especially heavy.

And, you feel the weight of it all, don’t you?
You feel that heft of sorrow, roiling through millions of hearts.

I know this will sound corny, but like old Ben Kenobi, in that OG Star Wars flick, suddenly sensing the crying out of a million souls.
That line lands because, for some of us, it’s fucking how it feels from time time to time. And sometimes, the weight of it all comes boiling over.

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And suddenly, as I am writing this, I am remembering my own good advice that I tell to almost every greiving family, after a loved one dies.

“Grief is like waves,” I tell them in wise, pastor-voice.

It’s like you’re standing there in the shallow surf…with water maybe up to your mid-shin. And you think, “Hey..this is good…I can handle this…”

And then, out of nowhere and without warning, some big wave crashes in, thumps you hard in the chest, and fairly well cuts you off at the knees.

”Grief is that wave,” I say.
It’s that “thump;” unexpected, and unwelcome. And out of nowhere.

”Yes, that’s a good story, Eric,” I say to myself just now.
Now, go and honor your grief, buddy. What are you wasting time, writing this for?”

OK…OK…

But first, let me quickly get to the punch line and some kind of point: I’m fine.

I cried it out. I mean, I BIG TIME cried it out. That’s my go-to move.
It no longer shocks me when the heaving tears come out of nowhere. It’s happened enough now, over these years, that I know that it will come, and I know that it will go.

Just like waves.

But maybe this is all I came here to tell you today, dear internet friends.

I suppose I came to say: Be gentle with yourselves.
Be gentle with those around you.

If you find that shortness of breath, that rising anxiety, then move your body into some place where you can get it out. If it works for you to be with a friend, then do that. If you’re an introvert that likes the alone time, do that too.

Cry it out…work it out…dance it out…write it out…whatever the thing it is that helps get it out, for you.

Cry in heaving tears to God if, as is the case for me, that helps.

God can take it. God can take the rage, confusion, anger, bitterness….whatever you need to bring. And if you don’t realize that’s true, it could be your God is too small.

I suppose today’s shock tears calls me to say here is:

Yes, right now really is a lot.
No, you’re not crazy.
We haven’t had times like this.

Be gentle, hurting people….with yourself and with all those you meet.