I never used to cry during love songs. Maybe early on, young days, college, broken-hearted, alone in my room listening to Bryan Ferry’s cover of Lennon’s “Jealous Guy” I would break down and while the tears felt necessary, they were also indulgent. I don’t mean that in a judgmental or dismissive way but more in a young, raw emotional way that, as I remember it, overwhelmed and occasionally ashamed me. Around that time, I decided indulging in tender emotions took me places I didn’t want to go. The river running through my heart was one that I was 100% too frightened to enter. Where that current might take me seemed altogether too rough a ride. I was sure I had no life vest for going over those waterfalls so I chose a walk in the desert.

The place I planted myself in music was dry as dust and filled with rattlesnake riddles. Although P.Jam’s “Black” could make me choke up for a love lost, for the most part my emotional musical moments rode on the backs of songs filled with angst and anger. Cathartic for sure and looking back, I loved that landscape. Yet also I recognized that there was a fresh-flowing tributary running alongside that would have offered me a cool release of tears and a rest on the shore of my emotions. But I kept on truckin’ into a music industry where snarling served me better than sobs.

I’m not here to bemoan that choice. I was (am) not unaware that in choosing that stance—a Nirvana-style nihilism over Rodrigo-esque release—I was figuring a load of stuff out even while my cup runneth over with untapped tenderness. Now, thirty+ years later, I’m all too aware that going forward also means going back. Looking into those depths and seeing the treasures down deep. When I was swirling up the waters, they weren’t so visible and I didn’t really take enough time to be still and let the ripples settle. Now I can at least know that standing at the edge of that fresh-water pond and being still, even for a little bit, can give me some perspective. I can spot the tools. I can decide how to use them. When I remember, I feel lucky in that.

And love songs. New ones that I’ve never heard before. D mentioned he listened to Cowboy Carter on a long drive yesterday. I’m curious again about music and I cued it up this morning. Taking in little sips of the new. As I’ve been dancing in the woods to Måneskin (and for sure “Valentine” is a worthy lost-love song), no deep tears have been shed, more joyous movement, which I obviously love. Yet today, wandering the premises and rolling along Beyoncé’s highways and byways a couple of love songs have dropped me into feeling some things. Not sad at all. Tears don’t mean heartbreak, but there is an ache in it. One that is actually quite lovely. Celebrations of love that have made me cry. “II Hands II Heaven” and “Bodyguard” in particular. A maturity. A connection that has taken years and years and years to find. A late-in-life place that could have only happened, I think, after wandering in the desert avoiding the river running just over the ridge. Learning that emotion can cover the waterfront of feeling. Just. simply. feeling.