Hiding

It’s not so easy to put yourself out there and tell the world about that awkward AA meeting or STD check-up, even if it was hilarious.

The greatest writing material on earth usually stays unwritten.

Even if adoration follows, it’s difficult to relive those intense moments, knowing the wheels of judgment are turning away behind each face that hears. So we stay silent and make crap movies and write shitty stories because we’re afraid to show the best of ourselves.

And then, when it’s all over, who really knew us? Who did we really know?

I went to a workshop a couple days ago and witnessed our blockades in action. I was partnered up with an older woman for an exercise where we had to stare into each other’s eyes for a minute and a half. When the countdown started she shifted around in her seat and nervously looked around my head.

“This is hard…” she said as her eyes darted everywhere but to my own.

I wondered why she wouldn’t look. Was my breath bad? Was my stare intimidating? Was it because I was a stranger? Insecurity forced me to look around the room to see if everyone was going through the same difficulties, but they weren’t, not everyone.

I looked back at my little old lady who refused to look into my eyes for more than a couple seconds and it hit me. It really wasn’t about me, she was just afraid. Once someone gets the chance to look in, what could one find out? She didn’t want me to know her, the darkness and beauty that lurked behind those doors to her soul. The secrecy was infectious, how weird did I feel staring at a woman with running eyes?! I had to look away too. Not that I knock her, really, because behind mine, I hold the best parts of me to spite the worst.