Languages of emotion
Connecting and expressing through music
One morning, when Z was still little and the words he knew could be counted by 10s rather than 100s, he got upset. Of course, this wasn’t an unusual occurrence for a toddler, but all the methods that usually worked to address the tears came up short. Distraction, a generally tried-and-true tactic, was unsuccessful. A snack was forcefully rejected. Reading a book, putting on a favorite CD produced no effect. The suggestion of a walk invited a dramatic flop onto the floor and an increase in the wailing. I was used to being able to intuit what this small person needed to settle and this failure rattled me more than subsequent failures would because it felt like a first. At some point, I got overwhelmed by my inability to soothe this boy and began to cry myself. I can remember thinking that if only he had more words, we could avert this crying fest.
Of course, as the words increased, so too did the complexity of thought and emotions. As he grew, Z could talk endlessly about Fetch! with Ruff Ruffman or explain in detail the latest Lego set he was building. He still had a harder time talking about how he felt. During elementary school, he and I would go on walks or even run together when he was upset. He seemed better able to tell me what was happening if we were both looking forward and putting one foot in front of the other. Once, he wrote me a short letter telling me how hard things had gotten at school. As someone trained to help people identify and talk about their feelings, I felt particularly useless when I couldn’t help my own child feel more comfortable sharing how he felt.
And then, Z found theater. From his first role in the ensemble in Godspell, theater unlocked a part of him that was a delight to witness. He fully embraced his characters, becoming cowardly, princely, pleasantly naive—whatever the part called for. All those emotions he couldn’t put to words fueled his stage presence. He had the same comfort on stage that he had with his train tracks and cars. And as his mom, it brought me such joy to see him perform.
Emotional intelligence, defined as the ability to effectively identify, understand, and use emotions, is something I have highly valued. It is the cornerstone of my profession—what is therapy if not the ability to thoroughly examine emotions? For me, one of the primary ways of engaging with emotion has been words. And yet, I also understand and deeply value the ways in which performance, creativity, and art offer a connection to emotion that is deeper, richer, and more immersive than words provide. Language is a translation of emotion—taking a feeling and putting it into words necessarily creates an additional layer. Artistic expression can get closer to those feelings, offer a way to express what you are feeling unencumbered by using a language that may come up short when trying to convey intensity, passion, or fervor.
Monica Giordano photography for Greater Boston Stage Company
One of the gifts of COVID was gaining a deeper appreciation for just how powerfully shared live performances can hold and offer a release of intense emotion. In April 2021, my family went with friends to see a musical at a small theater that had managed to gain national recognition for their management of COVID. I had not realized until I sat there, listening to these actors sing, how much theater allowed me to experience emotions in a raw, unprocessed way. You will not be surprised to learn that I held tightly to the hand of my friend and wept through the performance. For me, watching theater is part of what builds up my emotional reserves, the activity that feels most like praying to me in my agnostic life. It is its own type of emotional intelligence—the ability to allow others to transport you to another world.
Theater is not the only art form that has this effect on me. Live music provides another powerful way to access deeply felt emotions. I had forgotten how profound it can be to be part of a crowd of 20,000 people all singing together from their hearts. How a songwriter can pull you deeply into the emotional story they are telling. A story that intensifies with music. How the rhythm of the music can create synchronicity among the crowd, a synchronicity that actually increases feelings of trust and belonging among people. It is no wonder that listening to Noah Kahan and my new 20,000 best friends left me feeling more hopeful and joyful, though the lyrics were about how hard it is to be human. When we sing about these hard things together, we feel so much less alone in them.
And so, while Z still may not be the most eloquent in expressing his emotional states to me, I know that he has other languages with which to express and feel his emotions. Theater and music, two worlds he has embraced with similar intensity to math and engineering, offer him a way to access and experience emotion in a more collective experience. What a miraculous thing it is to witness what humans can produce.
Don't let this darkness fool you
All lights turned off can be turned on
I'll drive, I'll drive all night
I'll call your momOh, dear, don't be discouraged
I've been exactly where you are
I'll drive, I'll drive all night
I'll call your mom-Noah Kahan, Call Your Mom