According to some reports, Donald Tusk almost shed a few tears when he announced that the UK had formally triggered Article 50 on 29 March.
“We will miss you,” said Mr. Tusk, pausing for dramatic effect (or because he’d forgotten his lines temporarily). I’ve watched the video of the former Polish Premier’s statement to the press and as far as I can tell, at some points he looks like he’s about to start laughing, so I don’t know where the idea that he was about to weep came from. Perhaps he was thinking about all those billions from Westminster that are about to disappear from the coffers in Brussels and was on the verge of sobbing before he remembered one of man’s greatest adages – if you don’t laugh then you’ll cry.
Whatever was going on inside his head, I’m glad that he didn’t have to reach for his Louis Vuitton silk handkerchief.
Crying in public is no longer a big no-no for men of course. Whether we’re happy or sad, everyone’s doing it. Actors when they pick up an Oscar, footballers when they miss a penalty, celebrities who get a ‘10’ in Strictly Come Dancing.
It’s got out of control. We’re becoming emotional wrecks. The worst thing about it is that it also means that we’re losing all perspective on the value of things. If we’re crying when someone sings a nice song on some throwaway TV talent show as well as when our first-born child appears on earth, for example, then we’ve got serious issues. There is no comparison between the two events, but our reaction to them is almost identical. It’s ridiculous.
I’m just as guilty of it as the next man.
I’ve been known to get teary watching sports teams sing their national anthems, from the Andorran handball team to Zambia’s wrestling squad. I’ve cried when my wife has turned up to relieve me from babysitting duties. I even sobbed like a baby when some American musician died when I was a teenager (although I blame my fluctuating hormones at the time for that one).
But I’ve decided to man up. It’s got too much. How can I possibly start to get my five-year old to realise that he doesn’t have to cry whenever he doesn’t get his way if I start bawling when the love songs show starts playing on Radio 2?
I now take my cue from my Dziadzio whose eyes were only ever moist when some of the longer strands of hair from his wig tickled his eyelids. And that would only be at Christmas or on his name day, when he actually wore his hairpiece.
Modern thinking is that if men don’t provide a valve for their emotions then they’re in danger of storing all their pain inside and getting depressed, or even worse, suicidal. And there are plenty of Sigmund Freud’s disciples who will tell you that keeping sadness to yourself could lead to violence, or some other equally unlawful behaviour.
I don’t doubt that this is mostly true, but there are better, and more productive, ways for men to release their feelings.
So when I think I could be welling up, I take immediate action. I go and do some gardening, chop some wood, or scrub the car tyres until my shoulders burn and I can see my dry and clear eyes in the hubcaps. And if I don’t have any jobs that need doing, then there’s always good old-fashioned exercise. Hitting a punch bag or running to the shop to buy some tissues for your wife after she’s watched another episode of Call the Midwife will both improve your mood and help you live longer.
Now I’m not saying that men should never cry. Of course not. It’s perfectly acceptable (as I mentioned earlier) to cry at the two most important events in life: when a child is born, and when a close relative or friend passes on. But that’s about it.
Most people would call this an excessively macho stance to adopt. I prefer to call it the long-lost art of stoicism, which, as it happens, is still practiced in some countries, and to very good effect.
Take the Japanese. They are the masters of self-control and fortitude. Most Japanese men would rather stick chopsticks in their eyeballs than express any strong emotions in front of others. It is an attitude that has helped them immensely when overcoming adversity.
A serious amount of Japanese lost their lives during the Second World War, including tens of thousands of poor souls who were wiped out in the horrible nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The country was crippled after ending up on the losing side. And yet, by the 1970s, Japan was the second largest economy in the world, behind its old enemy, the USA.
The country didn’t achieve this success by having a prolonged collective national period of mourning, although it could have been forgiven for doing so. No, it did so by accepting defeat and moving on.
They did the same after the earthquake in 2011 that led to the Fukushima nuclear disaster. One British aid worker who went to visit the country after the devastating natural disaster was truly amazed by the stoicism of the Japanese. He did not see a single person cry while he was there.
"It was incredible,” he said. “The way you saw very little sign of emotion in people […] If every country were as efficient as them, then we wouldn't have to worry so much about disasters.”
His tale is a powerful one. It almost brings a tear to the eye…
This post first was first published in Tydzien Polski
“We will miss you,” said Mr. Tusk, pausing for dramatic effect (or because he’d forgotten his lines temporarily). I’ve watched the video of the former Polish Premier’s statement to the press and as far as I can tell, at some points he looks like he’s about to start laughing, so I don’t know where the idea that he was about to weep came from. Perhaps he was thinking about all those billions from Westminster that are about to disappear from the coffers in Brussels and was on the verge of sobbing before he remembered one of man’s greatest adages – if you don’t laugh then you’ll cry.
Whatever was going on inside his head, I’m glad that he didn’t have to reach for his Louis Vuitton silk handkerchief.
Crying in public is no longer a big no-no for men of course. Whether we’re happy or sad, everyone’s doing it. Actors when they pick up an Oscar, footballers when they miss a penalty, celebrities who get a ‘10’ in Strictly Come Dancing.
It’s got out of control. We’re becoming emotional wrecks. The worst thing about it is that it also means that we’re losing all perspective on the value of things. If we’re crying when someone sings a nice song on some throwaway TV talent show as well as when our first-born child appears on earth, for example, then we’ve got serious issues. There is no comparison between the two events, but our reaction to them is almost identical. It’s ridiculous.
I’m just as guilty of it as the next man.
I’ve been known to get teary watching sports teams sing their national anthems, from the Andorran handball team to Zambia’s wrestling squad. I’ve cried when my wife has turned up to relieve me from babysitting duties. I even sobbed like a baby when some American musician died when I was a teenager (although I blame my fluctuating hormones at the time for that one).
But I’ve decided to man up. It’s got too much. How can I possibly start to get my five-year old to realise that he doesn’t have to cry whenever he doesn’t get his way if I start bawling when the love songs show starts playing on Radio 2?
I now take my cue from my Dziadzio whose eyes were only ever moist when some of the longer strands of hair from his wig tickled his eyelids. And that would only be at Christmas or on his name day, when he actually wore his hairpiece.
Modern thinking is that if men don’t provide a valve for their emotions then they’re in danger of storing all their pain inside and getting depressed, or even worse, suicidal. And there are plenty of Sigmund Freud’s disciples who will tell you that keeping sadness to yourself could lead to violence, or some other equally unlawful behaviour.
I don’t doubt that this is mostly true, but there are better, and more productive, ways for men to release their feelings.
So when I think I could be welling up, I take immediate action. I go and do some gardening, chop some wood, or scrub the car tyres until my shoulders burn and I can see my dry and clear eyes in the hubcaps. And if I don’t have any jobs that need doing, then there’s always good old-fashioned exercise. Hitting a punch bag or running to the shop to buy some tissues for your wife after she’s watched another episode of Call the Midwife will both improve your mood and help you live longer.
Now I’m not saying that men should never cry. Of course not. It’s perfectly acceptable (as I mentioned earlier) to cry at the two most important events in life: when a child is born, and when a close relative or friend passes on. But that’s about it.
Most people would call this an excessively macho stance to adopt. I prefer to call it the long-lost art of stoicism, which, as it happens, is still practiced in some countries, and to very good effect.
Take the Japanese. They are the masters of self-control and fortitude. Most Japanese men would rather stick chopsticks in their eyeballs than express any strong emotions in front of others. It is an attitude that has helped them immensely when overcoming adversity.
A serious amount of Japanese lost their lives during the Second World War, including tens of thousands of poor souls who were wiped out in the horrible nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The country was crippled after ending up on the losing side. And yet, by the 1970s, Japan was the second largest economy in the world, behind its old enemy, the USA.
The country didn’t achieve this success by having a prolonged collective national period of mourning, although it could have been forgiven for doing so. No, it did so by accepting defeat and moving on.
They did the same after the earthquake in 2011 that led to the Fukushima nuclear disaster. One British aid worker who went to visit the country after the devastating natural disaster was truly amazed by the stoicism of the Japanese. He did not see a single person cry while he was there.
"It was incredible,” he said. “The way you saw very little sign of emotion in people […] If every country were as efficient as them, then we wouldn't have to worry so much about disasters.”
His tale is a powerful one. It almost brings a tear to the eye…
This post first was first published in Tydzien Polski
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