Richard Simmons Is Inside My Head

Sometimes my head is like a Richard Simmons workout. “HEY, I want to dance with somebody!” Sometimes it’s like the scene where Forrest Gump stands over Jenny’s grave and weeps. There’s also an in-between.

It’s no day in the park to feel deeply. There’s not an off button. There’s an attorney I work with who resonates kindness. I’m pretty sure he has never raised his voice his entire life. But what do I know? He walks around the office like nothing could ruin his day. I aspire to be like him. 

My former boss used to let out guttural screams in her office. It was when we worked in a satellite office. She probably read a case where a two year old was used as a punching bag. I would sit with her and we would yell, WHAT THE FUCK? 

Now that I work in the main office no guttural screaming is allowed. At least not out loud.

I think about life in a less emotional head. Not being moved to tears by a Bach Concerto. Not being devastated by the child abuse cases. Not being regularly disturbed by CNN. Not being overcome by the awe-aspiring beauty of the Scottish Highlands. I’m not sure I would trade it in.

When two year olds throw a fit we wrap them in our arms and comfort them. Hopefully.

When adults are emotional it’s a burden to some. As though it’s a conscious choice that has an off button. 

Perhaps I should start a business. “Guttural Screaming Therapy.” 

The ad says, “Are you at a ten on the emotional richter scale? Guttural screaming therapy might be for you.”

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