It has come as a huge surprise to me in the past year how very little I cry anymore when sad things are happening or I am going through something tough. I start to think, maybe I have just gotten a lot stronger. Maybe all of these years of trials have really hardened me into a sturdier rock. Someone less breakable. But then I get a second notion. Perhaps it is not that I have become terribly strong, but that instead I have already let too many tears leak out, as if I am allotted a particular amount for my lifetime, and the temporary dryness is merely a result that the amount I have left must be saved for actual sad times, times when I will really need them in the future, and that these times although they sometimes feel like a ball-and-chain with the ocean rising above me are merely not the magnitude worthy of the precious water I have left. A reminder that in fact these times, while tough, are only a moment in the desert and not the pain that could truly be.