Secrets. We all have them.
Some may be larger than others. But then again, who is to decide how big a secret really is?
Awhile back, I thought the fact that my hair is not “really” blonde anymore would be considered a secret. Now, I could care less if anyone knows. My weight? Well, I certainly prefer you don’t know. Heck, I don’t even want to know. I hesitate to get on the darn scale at the doctor during my annual exam.
Since I choose not to share this information,
these things may be considered to be secrets by some. But what I am realizing is that my secrets pale compared to others. To most others. Heck, I thought I was pretty racy when I didn’t tell anyone about the time that I ate bacon for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
No, I am tame. Boring even. Sigh. But I’m not saying I am seeking out more secrets about myself. I am not craving more internal excitement. I mean let’s face it. A secret is something that (supposedly) nobody knows. So if I decide to beg my way out of a traffic ticket with a very good looking cop – what fun is it if I can’t share this naughty little tidbit about me that lurks within my Mary Poppins existence with my best friend or the person sitting next to me in the coffee house?
Anyway, as I said, my secrets are boring.
I’ve found out they are a negative 1 on a scale of 1-10. While Googling the word “secrets”, I’ve found there are websites where people can tell their secrets anonymously. There are websites where people will take dares from complete strangers and post the results. There are websites for affairs and websites for people that want others to think they live a gloriously exciting and strange life. In reality, Facebook is boring.
I am trying to figure out if I like finding out others secrets. If I find out something so strange or far out about someone that I care about, will it change the way I feel about them? I am quite certain that no, it won’t change my feelings. I am not a judgmental person to begin with anyway. And once again, secrets are “secrets” for a reason, right? They are things about ourselves that we don’t want anyone else to know. I don’t advocate breaking the law or anything like that, but once again, is it true that what I don’t know (about you or anyone else) won’t hurt me?
Nothing major has happened to spur this column.
Nobody has revealed anything outrageous about themselves that they’ve kept from me forever. No, I just decided that keeping secrets from others is an interesting subject.
The definition of a secret is: kept hidden or separate from the knowledge of others. Well, if we go by this definition, I have a few more secrets than I thought: my husband has no idea how many pair of shoes I have, my sister doesn’t know that I “borrowed” a sweater the last time I saw her, I have read all 3 Fifty Shades of Grey books, I make fun of people that leave their Christmas lights left up past Easter and I like my dogs better than some people I know.
But you see this is not about “True Confessions”.
This is about not confessing anything. No, this is about hanging on to things that we don’t want others to know. I guess in the end we may feel better letting go of our secrets before they become a burden. This may be why Catholic Priests and late night radio shows are so popular: it feels good to share secrets, and to know that we are “ok” despite them. And depending on your beliefs, be absolved for them. And maybe those that tell Barbara Walters their deep and dark subjects truly just want other people’s approval or disapproval or reaction.
In the end, maybe it’s no fun to have a secret unless somebody knows. Maybe unburdening our secrets will make us feel better and less like we’ve sinned. But as I said, I strive to be non-judgmental – and that even includes to myself. So based on that, I will tell my sister about the sweater, but I won’t tell my husband about the new lovely red pumps. (“These old things? Why I’ve had them forever!”)
Secrets are a part of life. I promise I will like you even if I don’t know everything little tiny thing about you!