The Joy of Yelling
I love yelling. Just about every day I get to yell at the top of my lungs far out in the ocean and then laugh hysterically at the tragedy and the hilarity of life. These are not wimpy yells; they’re from the gut, give it everything-you’ve-got yells. I do this with my swim friends, including Max, Tom, Barry, Daniel, and Katharine.
The tradition of yelling during our swims was started by Max as a way to release his phantom pain. About eight years ago Max was run over by a powerboat while swimming in the Mediterranean, and not only lost an arm, but suffered brain damage as well. More than anyone I know, he has a real reason to yell (See my blog “Six Men Swimming” May 20, 2015). He calls it “anguish liberation shouting.”
Tom added a little ritual to our howls by creating three stages for our swim. Stage Three is where we begin; Stage Two is the horizontal tree trunk on the beach marking the halfway point; Stage One, about a mile up the beach, is the lifeguard tower. At each stage we cry out “Stage Two!” or “Stage One” repeating it over and over again, cheering and yelling and laughing.
I can’t imagine what it looks like from the shore, with six or seven swimmers in their sixties and seventies, a hundred yards offshore, all trying to out-yell each other. Everyone has their different style of yelling. For Max, it’s a deep roar; Tom belts out his yell; Katharine screams like a banshee; Barry is softer and quieter; Daniel somehow manages to insert his Swiss accent into his bellow; I’m still in search of my own howl and often find myself imitating their yells. Sometimes we see people on the beach, alarmed at the racket, wondering if we need help. One person started running to the lifeguard tower. We wave to them, reassuring them we’re ok.
It’s pretty difficult in this world to find a place where you can yell. I’m not talking about yelling at someone, which some people do just about anywhere, on the street, in the bedroom, in restaurants. No, being able to bellow on your own without someone calling 911 is a real challenge. You can do it in the woods, but you can never tell if there’s another hiker around the bend, terrified that you may have seen a bear. You can scream out in a field, but how often do you find yourself in the middle of a farmer’s field? You can shout in the bathtub, but the neighbors will surely hear. Undoubtedly the best place to yell, and the reason why so many attend these events, is at a football game, where yelling is both sanctioned and encouraged.
There was a time, in the era of primal scream therapy back in the seventies, when folks would go to a special sound-proofed office and pay money to yell. The idea was to re-experience childhood pain. In 1978, a year of primal therapy cost $6,600. It was great for anger release. I’d be angry too at paying that much.
Other than that we get few opportunities to yell, unless of course, we’re born into a French or Italian family. They know how to yell. It makes me very envious.
I grew up in a WASP family, not only a WASP family, but a Canadian WASP family. As everyone knows, Canadians are always nice and never yell. In my family yelling was strictly taboo; even raising your voice was frowned upon. I soon learned it was very dangerous to express my anger. So what did I do? I pushed it down inside. The side effect is that it leaks out in very nasty passive aggressive ways. I’m still struggling to get in touch with my anger (me? what anger?). I’m doing better at having the odd tantrum now and then, and shouting at the top of my lungs, but it’s very hard to teach an old dog new tricks.
In the meantime, I practice in front of the mirror and watch the great yelling scenes in movies. Remember Marlon Brando shouting, “Stella! Stella!” in Streetcar Named Desire or Janet Leigh’s scream in Psycho? Mel Gibson was memorable when he howled “Freedom!” in Braveheart; Robert de Niro is one of the best yellers of all time; and who can forget Leonardo DiCaprio yelling, “I’m the king of the world!” in Titanic?
Until I get proficient at wailing on land, I’ll swim in the ocean with my wonderful, crazy friends and yell my heart out. Surrounded by the vast ocean I’ll pour out all my frustration, all my sadness, and all my pain. The ocean doesn’t care.