Shh. It's a Secret

I've always loved secrets--not the ones kept from me (I'm rarely fond of surprises), but, of course, the ones I'm involved in keeping.

I do a wonderful job of weaseling my nose into all sorts of private conversations. I do quite well at keeping these kinds of secrets, but I'm rather awful at keeping personal secrets, the private thoughts in my head, to myself.

I've thought a lot about secrets for several weeks now. I've pondered on the role of privacy in our lives.

I have a friend, a best friend, with whom I've managed to share all of my secrets. For some reason, the words of certain secrets can rest heavy on our souls, and simply speaking them aloud to another helps relieve some of their weight. I had heavy secrets. And I shared them. This simple act unlocked a hidden door, permitting this person passage into my heart, giving them a key to the heavy door of privacy.

My thoughts have circled this moment, repeatedly. I recall the details of the dark night when bitter words fell on sweet ears. Then my thoughts wind up and project an expectation on my future--an expectation of open and intimate sharing. The thick door which was once locked, is passed through freely, and left open.

But where does this leave privacy?

Are intimacy and privacy contradictory? Can they coexist? Should they?

I think of my mother, commenting on a child's inability to wait five minutes to make their next request, causing them to barge into an occupied bathroom with their list of demands. Yet, simultaneously, I remember the childhood rule of not locking the door of our only bathroom creating a sense of familiarity in our family, we were more than siblings, we were friends.

Lack of privacy can cause one to go insane; yet, too much privacy creates isolation.

When your spouse asks, "What are you thinking?" do you answer them in full honesty? Does he or she have a right to your very thoughts?

Privacy is important, but what is it's role in our lives?