I cry at anything remotely touching - smile at me warmly and I'm

Hear, O listener, the tender words of Natalie Massenet, who confessed with humility and light: “I cry at anything remotely touching—smile at me warmly and I’m off… television also does it, everything from ‘X-Factor’ to cereal commercials. I cry when I am tired. I also cry when I laugh.” In this saying lies not weakness, but profound wisdom: that the soul which weeps easily is not fragile, but deeply alive, attuned to the subtle currents of human feeling. For the ancients knew that to feel deeply is both a burden and a blessing, a fire that consumes and yet illuminates.

What does it mean to cry? It is the overflowing of the heart when words fail, when emotion pours forth in rivers beyond the command of reason. Some weep from sorrow, some from joy, others from weariness, but all tears speak of a soul that refuses to remain silent. When Natalie tells of tears flowing at a warm smile, at a fleeting scene on the screen, or at the edge of exhaustion, she reveals to us the power of vulnerability: that the truest strength is not to hold back feeling, but to embrace it fully, even when it comes unbidden.

Consider the tale of President Abraham Lincoln in the heat of civil war. Though a leader of iron resolve, he was known to shed tears often, whether reading poetry, recalling fallen soldiers, or listening to the sorrows of mothers who lost their sons. Some mocked him for this softness, yet history remembers him not as weak but as great, for his tears showed the weight of his compassion. Like Massenet, he understood that to cry is not to falter, but to prove one’s humanity in the midst of unyielding duty.

And what of laughter, that twin sibling of tears? Natalie reminds us that she cries even when she laughs, for joy too is overwhelming, and the body knows no better way to release it than through tears. Here is a paradox known since ancient times: that sorrow and joy are not opposites, but woven together like threads of a single cloth. The one who feels joy most deeply is also the one who feels sorrow most acutely. Such souls stand close to the essence of life itself, where beauty and pain are inseparable.

To some, this openness may appear as weakness. They say, “Hold back your tears, hide your trembling, master yourself.” Yet such counsel risks turning the heart to stone. A heart that never weeps, never shakes, never trembles, may also never love, never cherish, never stand in awe of the fragile beauty of existence. The ancients warned that to feel nothing is a greater curse than to feel too much. Thus Natalie’s words become a hymn to sensitivity, a reminder that we should not shame our tears, but honor them.

The lesson, then, is this: let your tears flow when they must, whether they spring from sorrow, from laughter, or from a stranger’s gentle smile. Do not bury your emotions beneath pride, nor let fear of judgment seal your heart. Instead, see in your tears the sign of life, the proof that you are awake to the mystery of existence. For tears, like rain, soften the ground, allowing seeds of compassion to grow.

Therefore, O traveler of days, take this teaching with you: cultivate a heart that feels, a heart that laughs, a heart that weeps. When you are weary, let your tears cleanse you. When you rejoice, let your laughter overflow into weeping. And when another greets you with warmth, do not hide your trembling, for it is the echo of love within you. If you live thus, you will find yourself more fully human, more fully alive, than those who wear masks of iron and boast of never shedding tears.

Thus Natalie’s confession becomes a beacon for us all: to feel deeply is no curse, but the highest form of strength. For in our tears we find our kinship with one another, and in our laughter through tears, we discover the true wonder of being alive.