No Tears Left to Cry

Dear Dad,

I wish I could have known if you ever experienced a week like the one I just did. One filled with so much love, friendship, and conversation, yet unbearable sadness, isolation, and anxiety.

I wish I could have asked you whether or not you felt confused with life, lost in what your purpose was, or just plain uncertain about what the future held.

To have asked whether or not you were enjoying living in the present, or just ready for something new…could have been the advice I needed this week in light of all these feelings.

There are moments when I overestimate the severity of my thoughts and how deep I am within them (“moments” meaning most of the time), and only worsen them by wishing I were able to call you to ponder what to do next. While the tears start rolling, I’ve built up the habit of picking up the phone to call mom instead—to recognize the added anxieties that I would be laying on her.

This leaves me even more alone, with my thoughts that don’t physically exist, crafting up ideas as to how my life should be set out to be. What makes these moments more frustrating is the fact that I’ve been through this cycle over and over.

Back in middle school, I couldn’t wait to enter high school.

Once in high school, it’s like college was calling my name from the moment COVID-19 came and went.

And now, all I dream about day to day is where I will be in a few short months.

So the question is: when will I ever live in the present?

With a healthy family, a reliable network of friends, a roof (or dorm ceiling for now) over my head, an education, a dining hall of food, and more than enough clothing to survive any PA snowstorm, what is there to rush in life? From an optimistic standpoint, I tell myself I’m just excited for life and what’s to come. But I truly believe this has become too much so that I’m unable to stop and smell the flowers of right here, right now.

This leaves me with the exact title I inserted before writing this entry, due to all of the feelings I’m feeling for practically no reason. Anxiety is a weird thing, in that uncertainty and confusion cause sadness. But right here, right now, it is the tears that result only in more confusion, after being snapped back into reality and every gift that comes along with it.

If I could talk to future Lauren, an hour from now, tomorrow, or five years down the road, in addition to anyone else feeling these same waves of anxiety, I would tell them to look at their feet. See how far they’ve come. And most importantly, show gratitude to those who have brought them there before it’s too late.

My thoughts may not be the things that remain physically in the future, but the tears that fall mark the things I’ve seen and the experiences I’ve had. So let’s let those tears be worth it. Not for the anxiety that racks my brain, the uncertainty that job interviews bring, or the self-doubt towards wanting alone time, which hides my independence.

Rather, let’s let those tears be ones that fall for the grieving of a loved one, the heartbreak of a closing movie scene, or the joy of seeing a family or friend walking down the aisle.

So for now—the right here, right now—I have no tears left to cry!

Talk to you post east coast blizzard,

Lauren