Today I woke up at 5:40, involuntarily. I decided to take a walk, so I went out the door and started heading West: and I kept heading West, until I reached the shore. The voices in my head quieted down one by one until my head caught up with reality.
It’s been a while since I’ve felt this sacredness in being. The peril of a world overexposed is the loss of personal, private truths.
One of the things I looked forward to the most during childhood was being dropped off at school before anyone else arrived. I would sit, by myself, in this huge, empty classroom, suspended between night and day before the basking of the early morning sun. In those moments I felt that the world stood still, and that the world was wholly mine.
At my core I’ve always been a somewhat private person: full of little secrets I whisper to myself, notes stuffed in folders across laptops, asking for more cloud storage. But I started sharing because I saw the joy it brought to other people when I articulated certain feelings they thought they alone had, when I reminded them of a certain beauty they experienced in the past.
But this sharing comes at a price, because with sharing there comes a fear of judgment, a fear of misinterpretation and being loss in translation, of your words reaching an audience that completely misses the truth of what you had to say, of being seen as self-indulgent, excessive, and crazy. The worst that can happen is when that audience is someone close to you, someone that you thought would understand.
Things like that can make you grow cold, defensive, layered with insecurities, saying things you don’t mean to say and spinning out of control, until you become unrecognizable to yourself.
So what you do is you get up, you put on your thickest sweater, you grab your keys and walk down the stairs. You walk out the door and you keep walking, until the voices in your head quiet down one by one and your head catches up with reality.