tearful trajectory.

I've never been the type of person to cry about happy things. My tears have always been silent, and reserved for only the most tragic of moments. Even my own mother's soft smile and warm tears during the moments when she has been most proud of me are beyond comprehension.

Until recently.

Perhaps it is a part of growing older, reaching emotional maturity or just being OK about being a sap, but the past year or so of my life has been riddled with happy cries. There was the "unexpected opportunity" cry -- complete with a sinking to the floor and gripping the carpet of my living room. There was the "maternal moment" cry, when I realized that my brother -- despite my requests -- will continue to grow up without my watchful eye. And, a classic this one, the "wedding" cry -- which is characterized by an internal melting and hopefulness.

Now all this talk about crying brings me to my experience today.

As I ascended above the clouds on a Southwest flight from Bowling Green, Kentucky to Columbus, Ohio, I was struck with a profound feeling of calm. Something about looking down at the world below makes life's mistakes, embarrassments, humiliations and shortcomings seem distant and unimportant in the context of space.

I examined my earth, freckled by the shadows of over passing clouds. I was not sad. I was not happy. I was just ... aware.

And then for some reason, my throat tightened and eyes watered. Unblinking, I felt a well of water build beneath my lower eye. I looked up -- hoping for some evaporation -- if a tear doesn't fall you're not really crying, right? I took a deep breath, sat back in my seat and watched the man next to me flip through SkyMall.

Reclining Chairs. Gardening Gizmos. Massage wands. Golf ball carriers. Monogrammed Towels.

In less than a minute, the moment had passed.

Nothing like worthless retail to destroy an emotion.

Olivia Hubert-Allen