Learning How to Cry

& live out on the edge

Before I dive in, I just want to make a quick mention that Frame by Frame, my filmmaking, editing, writing and animation masterclass, is closing to new purchases forever after one week from now (January 15th). The course has over 40 hours of material breaking down every stage of my creative process, and has been taken by over 520 students so far.

It’s been a blast creating the course, but it’s time to move on to new projects. If you join the course, you’ll forever get to keep 40+ hours of video curriculum – even after the course “closes.”

Because I don’t plan to offer access to this material again, we are choosing to offer generous scholarship plans to those who haven’t been able to afford it so far. You can apply for a scholarship here (<5 minutes).

Sign up to get the course before it disappears! (Apply for scholarship! ←)

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Paris, 2021

I cry more than I used to. I don’t usually cry out of sadness (though it can happen). Tears come to me far more often out of a feeling of overwhelm or a profound feeling of beauty and appreciation (a different kind of overwhelm, you could say).

Crying feels amazing but I only get there by allowing myself to put my guard down which is often not easy for me. The reason it feels good is that when I cry, it’s like the dam breaks and I am connected to my heart. I really try to just let everything wash over me. There’s a feeling of alignment in my body instead of resisting or keeping a lid on something that is bubbling up. A release of tension. I give myself over to what I am feeling.

I’m writing about crying because it’s related to a very intense transition I’m undergoing in my life right now that I don’t fully understand. I secretly suspect that we must all contend with what our hearts tell us to do and how to “make that fit” into the rest of our lives. This is often not easy. What do you do when your heart longs for something that will rock or even capsize the boat that is your life?

What if you spent a lot of time building up a life that at one stage you really wanted and that you no longer feel so drawn to (as illustrated in my move from Paris to the countryside that I’ve been chronicling on here and on my YouTube channel)?

The transition I’m talking about is not the geographical shift of moving to a new home or a new country. What I’m talking about is learning how to live my life in a radically different way, with trust and faith in what my heart is saying, instead of just thinking through every situation. An internal shift.

Faith in your heart and in your intuition and in a deeper connectedness across all things, all experiences, is scary. Point blank. Living with faith (which does not have to be a religious word, mind you) feels like forever crossing bridges into unknown foreign lands and burning the bridges behind you. After all, it’s not faith if you’re always looking backwards and for a way out.

To live like this seems like an insane thing to do! In other words, it’s living out on the edge. When you’re out on the edge, there is no roadmap.

Living out on the edge is hard and it’s inconvenient and this is an entirely self-imposed problem to have, but it’s also something I believe all artists must contend with, because it’s always out on the edge that the most interesting things are happening.

But this is not just reserved to the artists of this world. It’s what happens when you’re a curious person that’s searching. For what, you may not know, but something in you keeps telling you that there is more out there.

And because I am a curious person, I know no other way to live.

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When I sent out a survey during my transition to Substack asking all of you why you read this newsletter/blog, many of you expressed the fact that it helps you feel something, that perhaps reading these is a chance to slow down and reconnect with yourself. I was shocked and moved to receive this response because that’s exactly why I write these. For me to feel that way.

In a highly utilitarian world, I make things to feel more connected and though I have absolutely no way of measuring that value, it’s the thing that gives value and meaning to every day of my life.

I’m writing about this transition I’m going through right now to remind myself of why I’m doing this.

I feel drawn to always live out on the edge because that’s where I find anything actually interesting to say. Like, for example, that I’m learning how to cry.

I don’t know where life is taking me, and that scares me, but I am learning to have faith.

I want to live every moment with the alignment that I feel with my heart when I cry. Even just writing that makes me want to cry (but with the good kind of feeling of overwhelm, of course).

Until next time,

Nathaniel Drew

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I wrote this listening to this.