How do you feel about keeping secrets? Is discretion the better part of valour, or does telling every truth set you free?
Ne vous inquiétez pas. C’est juste entre nous ;)
I’m definitely captain of team confidentiality. Those who know me well - nay, even peripherally - have become familiar with “The Cone”. My infinite repository for revelations, atonements, confessions and deep discussions that transpire between myself and trusted friends/family. Monumental, moderate or miniscule…any sharing of information can be sequestered with the mere mention of that phrase.
T’was not always thus. I was a chatty child, talking fervently and rapid fire from an early age. My party trick was reciting commercials I’d seen on TV or heard over the radio…verbatim, accompanied by excessively dramatic inflection. As I moved through adolescence, that loquaciousness became both asset and liability. While I could find common conversational ground with just about anyone, many a teacher grew tired of those garrulous tendancies in their classrooms.
Yet, I never lost awareness of the impact words can have. On relationships, careers, decisions and life experience. And as I got older, my talkative nature became progressively filtered. Gregarious, always. Inquisitive, absolutely. But also: increasingly guarded.
Everyone has their own relationship with disclosure. Some share abundantly; others keep the proverbial curtains closed. I gravitate toward a hybrid model: convivial on the outside, with a protective emotional shell. That’s how some of us introverts roll. We’re excellent expositors, pop culture enthusiasts, news junkies, social deflectors. But absolute crap at being emotionally honest.
We are not shifty. Or in any sort of denial about life’s harder bits. Rather, things we feel, think and experience are…uncomfortably raw? A little scary? Entirely too real?
Yes. All of the aforementioned, and then some…
Hence, The Cone. A hermetically sealed vessel of personal exploration and cathartic divulgence. An illusory USB that I use to download what’s in my head, on my heart and keeping me up at night. I’m blessed with a small cadre of “Coneheads” - folks who’ve known me for decades, indulge [and rightly mock] my eccentricities, and handle importations with the utmost discretion.
Therein lies my happy place.
Essentially, I’ve found a way to keep talking without truly owning my voice. Keeping some impactful, relevant stuff in the zeitgeist yet out of the public record. You’ll get glimpses of my inner workings, but nary a sweeping reveal.
I struggle with this dichotomy. Strangers, having just met me, will bare their souls. Friends know I am a safe space to ruminate and decompress. Family respects my privacy settings because I am utterly unshockable. Their trust is my joy. Yet those I hold near and dear must wonder why our relational roads aren’t always reciprocal. Because encouraging others to share abundantly while deftly declining entreaties to respond in kind comes at a cost.
I am not practicing the very thing that is fundamental to my values: meeting one another where we are. For me, this is the pinnacle of relational longevity.
It feels like a proverbial crossroad. Should I rethink my orientation? Inform, so as not to disappoint? Or is there another perspective? One that honours confessionals between consenting parties in this age of social media ubiquity and meta transparency…
Asking for a friend :)
I’m an emotional chameleon. Indefatigable. An anchor in tumultous times. My vault is vast…there’s always room for true / guilty / random confessions. Tell me what you need and I’ll move heaven and earth to procure it. I derive endless joy in being of service to others. If I can provide a shoulder to lean on or resources to build a path forward, happiness is mine.
So why do I find it excruciating to requite? Hurdle #1: getting out of my own head. Immersion in dense urban spaces, solo afternoon movie viewings and global adventures help me escape from my hamster wheel brain. When you’re accustomed to internal monologue, public declarations are mildly terrifying. Obstacle #2: if my cards are on the table, what will you think? Though I shouldn’t care, your opinion matters. Damn…
When I ask how you’ve been, what your take is on current developments or which is your favourite condiment, I’m not asking to be polite or social. I’m legitimately curious! Getting to know you better requires understanding how you think | why you engage | when you resist | where you aspire to go. Bantering about silly and serious things. Debating controversial topics. Crying over spilled milk. Yes! Please! More. Getting into conversational weeds is where my heart sings.
Conveniently, these interactions also serve as deflections. We do you rather than me. It’s by design, not deception. But I’m no longer sure there’s integrity in my approach. Maybe I’m just afraid of growing up*.
So, in this decidedly public discourse, I vow to do things differently [pausing for a few really deep breaths]. Ask and I shall tell more. Neither everything nor nothing. But some of the following: ridiculous stories; head-scratching truths; random wierd stuff…you’ll definitely get the best of me.
Please don’t mistake my verbal hedging for social distance. It’s not you…it’s absolutely me. Rest assured, I’m working on it. I vow to be occasionally vulnerable and incrementally candid.
It’s gonna happen.
Because perfectionism is exhausting and secrets are tricky. Discerning what ought to be protected versus stories needing to be told is an alchemist’s journey. Maybe I should conjure an inner magician and make worries around opening up disappear?
Highly unlikely. There’s no secret sauce in the recipe of human experience. If it’s true, honest, compassionate and/or real, I ought to expound! Telling those closest to me what lies within feels like a solid first step. Saying something bold, embracing a stranger, opening an emotional window…this is where I’ll find my footing. I’ve always treated revelations of those in my orbit with respect, compassion and care. Why offer that to others and not myself? Time to proffer a representative sample of moi: aspirational, awkward, accomplished…slightly armoured but approachable.
Let’s ask and tell. We’ll take care with our disclosures, while celebrating individuality and community. I’ll share mine, you’ll reveal yours…and when it gets awkward, the cone is always an option.
*That struggle is entirely real. Maturity is for amateurs. If kids can be unflitered, why not me? Also you?
