Monday 22 August 2016, week 15: Buldir Island, 22:40

For years of childhood and adolescence I wondered why my mom would tear up over what seemed to me the most insignificant events. Take her to a comedic film and she’d find a way to cry at some point. It didn’t make any sense to me.

As usual, genetics finally caught up with me, and now I understand why she used to say she couldn’t help it. She’s carries what I’ve coined the Insta-tear Gene and successfully passed it on to me. Occasionally I find myself caught in moments where nothing significant has happened, and yet a few tears appear at the corner of my eye.

For instance, back in July I was enjoying a morning in the blind on Main Talus, taking in all the crested and least auklets surrounding me in waves of flight. Even through the fog, it became magical; as I appreciated the scene, a tear crept to my eye.

During our last check of kittiwakes and murres on the Spike Camp side of the island, it was hot enough under the blazing sun that all of us were watching our cliffs in just our base layers. Kevin was completely barefoot, and McKenzie was holding her Pendleton above herself as a sunblock. The sky was blue, East Cape was swirling with seabirds, and a few early thick-billed murre fledgelings were swimming and celebrating their successful leaps from the cliffs with their dads and supportive fans. There was nothing sad about the scene, and yet there it was sliding down my face again, that silly tear of gratitude.

I can no longer tease my mom about her ability to just turn on the waterworks because I also have no control over it. Life offers us moments that can be beautiful, funny, poignant, and meaningless at the same time. There are worse ways than tears to recognize such moments, such as taking no notice.