“Leakinesses,” because there are several different types, even if Mr. Gates’ Word will not permit my pluralizing of it (and yet it does permit “pluralizing”). Still, there are several different sorts. There is the sort of leakiness which the man in the boat experiences in Matt Damon and Ben Affleck’s brilliant movie Good Will Hunting. The man in the boat is actually only in a painting in the movie, a painting painted by Will’s psychologist, played by Robin Williams. Will analyses it like this, “Maybe you were in the middle of a storm, a big fuckin’ storm– the waves were crashing over the bow, the Goddamned mast was about to snap, and you were crying for the harbor. So you did what you had to do, to get out. Maybe you became a psychologist.” Will is deflecting attention and being flip and very soon our attention is rested away to the amazing way in which the psychologist threatens Will for insulting his beloved, deceased wife, and yet I think Will’s assessment of the painting and the use of the painting by the filmmakers itself is quite effective. In such situations, we feel desperate terror from the leakiness of our boats, the sheer inadequacy of our tiny vessels. The water slaps over the gunwales, seeps up darkly through the bottom of the boat, and we can begin to despair.
There is another sort of leakiness, though, too, a sort which may indeed occur concurrently with the first type in a sort of perfect storm, adding water to the pool in the bottom of the boat, but which may also happen in seemingly calm seas. This is the sort where the water leaks out and not in. And sometimes even up until the very moment before it begins to leak we are not aware that it will. Sometimes the leak is like a trickle; sometimes it is like a storm; sometimes it is like a force of nature, like water seeping up through the ground for days and days, and we don’t know why. Talking to a friend the other day, I said I think it is kind of like osmosis, though really I think it is more like water finding its proper level, equalizing its pressure with the outside. And it is a powerful force. It will have out, either now or later.
Now, sometimes I think this all happens simply for very prosaic reasons. If you are very, very, very tired, your chances of becoming weepy are much higher, unless perhaps if you are an Army Ranger, and I bet even they get leaky from time to time. For some of us who struggle with depression it can be fairly common. It can serve as a sort of rain gauge, helping us know when things are off kilter. When the water reaches a certain level, say when you have gotten leaky at a random commercial on television, well it may be time to pay more attention and tweak a couple things. And, yes, I did include such weepiness from depression in the “prosaic” category. That is not to say it is always prosaic, but it can be when you have recognized that you are prone to it, when you know it is a factor, when you can say to yourself “Right, right. That’s why that is happening.” And that realization is one that needs constant re-realizing, but, nonetheless, can really help each time.
There are other times, though, the when the leakiness comes and stays, for a day, a week, a month, or more, and then it is anything but prosaic. In these times, there seems to be some long term equalizing process that is going on, some long term balancing of pressures, concentrations. My point here is not to sink some wells and figure out what causes these occurrences. There can be so, so many things that do, things that are long term or newly felt. I guess what I am really interested in is what do we do collectively when one of us is so afflicted? What responsibility do we have to one another? And, yes, particularly how does this work out for single people, who, by necessity or choice, have become very good at containment, at creating secret drains to hide the run-off?
When the leakiness does make itself evident, when the systems fail and it comes pouring out, it seems that many of us are simply afraid of getting wet, afraid of either squarely facing the potential of the same catastrophe in ourselves or the prospect of facing sadness again and again and again, sometimes day after day after day. I fear sometimes we have taken to heart too well, and wrongly, the adage to not feed codependence. We are, after all, a pop psychologically literate population, and we know how to spin those adages to our advantage, to, frankly, sometimes let ourselves off the hook, to sometimes validate our selfishness and fear. And so we walk away. I don’t mean to discount the wisdom of truly not making folk dependent on one another, but I simply think that being on the fostering codependence end of the spectrum is generally not where most people are located.
I write this piece not really certain of the answers. I do believe that ultimately Proverbs 14:10 is true, at least, perhaps, until the coming of the New Earth (and then will we even remember sorrows?), that “Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy.” And yet that is not to say that we are not called to be with each other in the experiencing of each of these contrasting emotions. We are exactly called to do just that by Paul in Romans. And, yes, sometimes that mourning may take a long and tedious while.
When the leakiness of external storms occurs for a friend, it is fairly clear what one must do, get in and help bail out the water. It may be harder to see what one can do with the second form of leakiness, but at the very least we might strive to be better observers, askers, and, yes, when necessary, people who stick around. Ultimateyl, it is God who collects our tears, but maybe, just maybe, some times, perhaps in some seasons oftentimes, we might be called to hold the bottle.

“Leakinesses,” because there are several different types, even if Mr. Gates’ Word will not permit my pluralizing of it (and yet it does permit “pluralizing”). Still, there are several different sorts. There is the sort of leakiness which the man in the boat experiences in Matt Damon and Ben Affleck’s brilliant movie Good Will Hunting. The man in the boat is actually only in a painting in the movie, a painting painted by Will’s psychologist, played by Robin Williams. Will analyses it like this, “Maybe you were in the middle of a storm, a big fuckin’ storm– the waves were crashing over the bow, the Goddamned mast was about to snap, and you were crying for the harbor. So you did what you had to do, to get out. Maybe you became a psychologist.” Will is deflecting attention and being flip and very soon our attention is rested away to the amazing way in which the psychologist threatens Will for insulting his beloved, deceased wife, and yet I think Will’s assessment of the painting and the use of the painting by the filmmakers itself is quite effective. In such situations, we feel desperate terror from the leakiness of our boats, the sheer inadequacy of our tiny vessels. The water slaps over the gunwales, seeps up darkly through the bottom of the boat, and we can begin to despair.
There is another sort of leakiness, though, too, a sort which may indeed occur concurrently with the first type in a sort of perfect storm, adding water to the pool in the bottom of the boat, but which may also happen in seemingly calm seas. This is the sort where the water leaks out and not in. And sometimes even up until the very moment before it begins to leak we are not aware that it will. Sometimes the leak is like a trickle; sometimes it is like a storm; sometimes it is like a force of nature, like water seeping up through the ground for days and days, and we don’t know why. Talking to a friend the other day, I said I think it is kind of like osmosis, though really I think it is more like water finding its proper level, equalizing its pressure with the outside. And it is a powerful force. It will have out, either now or later.
Now, sometimes I think this all happens simply for very prosaic reasons. If you are very, very, very tired, your chances of becoming weepy are much higher, unless perhaps if you are an Army Ranger, and I bet even they get leaky from time to time. For some of us who struggle with depression it can be fairly common. It can serve as a sort of rain gauge, helping us know when things are off kilter. When the water reaches a certain level, say when you have gotten leaky at a random commercial on television, well it may be time to pay more attention and tweak a couple things. And, yes, I did include such weepiness from depression in the “prosaic” category. That is not to say it is always prosaic, but it can be when you have recognized that you are prone to it, when you know it is a factor, when you can say to yourself “Right, right. That’s why that is happening.” And that realization is one that needs constant re-realizing, but, nonetheless, can really help each time.
There are other times, though, the when the leakiness comes and stays, for a day, a week, a month, or more, and then it is anything but prosaic. In these times, there seems to be some long term equalizing process that is going on, some long term balancing of pressures, concentrations. My point here is not to sink some wells and figure out what causes these occurrences. There can be so, so many things that do, things that are long term or newly felt. I guess what I am really interested in is what do we do collectively when one of us is so afflicted? What responsibility do we have to one another? And, yes, particularly how does this work out for single people, who, by necessity or choice, have become very good at containment, at creating secret drains to hide the run-off?
When the leakiness does make itself evident, when the systems fail and it comes pouring out, it seems that many of us are simply afraid of getting wet, afraid of either squarely facing the potential of the same catastrophe in ourselves or the prospect of facing sadness again and again and again, sometimes day after day after day. I fear sometimes we have taken to heart too well, and wrongly, the adage to not feed codependence. We are, after all, a pop psychologically literate population, and we know how to spin those adages to our advantage, to, frankly, sometimes let ourselves off the hook, to sometimes validate our selfishness and fear. And so we walk away. I don’t mean to discount the wisdom of truly not making folk dependent on one another, but I simply think that being on the fostering codependence end of the spectrum is generally not where most people are located.
I write this piece not really certain of the answers. I do believe that ultimately Proverbs 14:10 is true, at least, perhaps, until the coming of the New Earth (and then will we even remember sorrows?), that “Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy.” And yet that is not to say that we are not called to be with each other in the experiencing of each of these contrasting emotions. We are exactly called to do just that by Paul in Romans. And, yes, sometimes that mourning may take a long and tedious while.
When the leakiness of external storms occurs for a friend, it is fairly clear what one must do, get in and help bail out the water. It may be harder to see what one can do with the second form of leakiness, but at the very least we might strive to be better observers, askers, and, yes, when necessary, people who stick around. Ultimateyl, it is God who collects our tears, but maybe, just maybe, some times, perhaps in some seasons oftentimes, we might be called to hold the bottle.