It’s not often that I cry. When I was younger, significant moments always generated tears: good-byes, both long and short; songs, both sweet and sad; post-party blues, both thrilling and tedious. The good-byes struck me particularly hard; long, drawn-out sobs with no-end-in-sight. Eventually, I trained myself to breathe through the hyperventilating. This technique worked so well that today, I barely shed a tear. Ironically, it’s sad that I don’t cry more often. The tears have long been bottled up. Until …