What don't you know about me? About my neighbors? About our families?
Skeletons in the closet.....some scary, some sad, some old and rickety, most painful.
Is it expected or odd that we all have something to hide? Our past, our present? Does anybody NOT have something to hide?
Kids lie about their age to get into clubs. Older women lie about their age to stop the speed of time. We hide our wrinkles and hard-earned creases, spend thousands on surgery and Botox and facials and creams. The frown lines I earned from concentrating, thinking, puzzling? They should be hidden.
People hide their bank balances and net worth. They hide their bikes, so robbers don't steal them. They hide their tummy rolls in Spanx. They hide their deceased Dad's old clothes in the trunk of their car, in a messy pile, because they can't face throwing them out.
They hide photos of former lovers. Or current ones.
They hide their liquor. Their toilet brush. Their chocolate. Their guns. Their jewels. Their potato chips. They hide the truth about their parents. They hide the key under the seat. They hide their perfume from little inquisitive hands. They hide their inner selves from their families, and from their therapists.
They hide pills, and feelings and deepest thoughts. They hide their self-esteem.
I think I'm uneasy about hiding things. H. recently told a therapist about an issue, Alice would tell the mailman about it. I had to laugh. It's not so far from the truth. I can be consumed with worry about things. Placing them at someone else's feet makes me feel less alone, more comforted.
Yet I can see the boundary, the line in the sand. If we all told everyone everything, there'd be no privacy, no decorum.
Still. What don't you know about me? What don't I know about you? Doesn't this make us all feel a little uncomfortable?
Good night.
TCOY
Skeletons in the closet.....some scary, some sad, some old and rickety, most painful.
Is it expected or odd that we all have something to hide? Our past, our present? Does anybody NOT have something to hide?
Kids lie about their age to get into clubs. Older women lie about their age to stop the speed of time. We hide our wrinkles and hard-earned creases, spend thousands on surgery and Botox and facials and creams. The frown lines I earned from concentrating, thinking, puzzling? They should be hidden.
People hide their bank balances and net worth. They hide their bikes, so robbers don't steal them. They hide their tummy rolls in Spanx. They hide their deceased Dad's old clothes in the trunk of their car, in a messy pile, because they can't face throwing them out.
They hide photos of former lovers. Or current ones.
They hide their liquor. Their toilet brush. Their chocolate. Their guns. Their jewels. Their potato chips. They hide the truth about their parents. They hide the key under the seat. They hide their perfume from little inquisitive hands. They hide their inner selves from their families, and from their therapists.
They hide pills, and feelings and deepest thoughts. They hide their self-esteem.
I think I'm uneasy about hiding things. H. recently told a therapist about an issue, Alice would tell the mailman about it. I had to laugh. It's not so far from the truth. I can be consumed with worry about things. Placing them at someone else's feet makes me feel less alone, more comforted.
Yet I can see the boundary, the line in the sand. If we all told everyone everything, there'd be no privacy, no decorum.
Still. What don't you know about me? What don't I know about you? Doesn't this make us all feel a little uncomfortable?
Good night.
TCOY
- Took a walk with Sug--twice. Once with H., when we passed a pretty flowering cherry tree.
- Private Benjamin, family style.
- For levity, read some of Hanging Up, a novel by Delia Ephron, which Sis ordered for me.
- Nap.
- Made a healthy dinner, again! On a roll. This time, roasted chicken and chicken sausages, steamed green beans and zucchini.
- Finally cleared more mental space to work.
Posts
I loved this post.
ReplyDeleteHeidi
Hi Alice. The flip side of divulging family secrets to the mailman is your enthusiasm and unbridled interest in people. A great quality and one that makes you, you. (Example: How we got to know all about the cab driver from Brooklyn as we rode from Port Authority to Downing Street.) We all have secrets, even from ourselves. I also loved this mysterious post. Love, Lin
ReplyDeleteHeidi, I am SO glad you are back to comment. Thank you for the note. See you tomorrow, dying on the field while you lope gracefully ahead. Lin: Thanks. I never thought of it that way. Maybe you're right. I just love to talk and am curious. That cabdriver was very nice, wasn't he? love alice
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing this with me.
ReplyDeleteNow that is really funny, Dan! btw, the new man making the rounds lately, Robert, is very, very nice--and a good listener.
ReplyDelete