Secrets and Being Sneaky

To quote Nobel prize-winning author, Gabriel García Márquez:

"All human beings have three lives: public, private, and secret."

Being sneaky and secretive is something that seems like it has always been a part of me. It may have been me just learning to get away with things. I remember constantly being harped on by my dad, as he'd hurl things like, "watch what you're doing!" or "pay attention!" or other "get yer head outta yer ass" type comments. Through those admonishments and my desire to avoid getting into a situation that would bring trouble, I learned what to do or not to do to stay in the clear. I learned I could mess with practically anything I wasn't supposed to mess with if I did it right. All I had to do was note exactly how things were placed, how they were stacked, direction they were facing, and all those sorts of things before I got into something I wasn't supposed to be getting into.

I also got good at being quiet. Stealthy might be a better description.  When you live in an older house, there are squeaks and noises that the house makes as you interact with it.  I learned things like, turning a particular doorknob made a squeak if you turned it the usual direction, but was totally quiet if you turned it the other way instead.  I learned to navigate the entire house avoiding floor squeaks.  It's not that I was trying to get away with anything (well okay--I'm sure I was occasionally up to no good), it was mostly just my way of celebrating the solitude of an empty house by not adding a single sound to it.  I'm the same way outside.  When I'm walking alone, I don't whistle, shuffle, or anything like that.  I tread lightly.  I don't try to be quiet--I just am.  I just feel I have to be.  When I'm alone in the woods, such as in the special place I like to go in the summer to be without clothes, I walk carefully, choosing to avoid making any sounds.  It just seems wrong to make a sound in those kind of conditions--almost sacrilegious. I walk like I'm stalking prey.

As I grew a little older, siblings became more intrusive into my privacy. Everyone knows the firstborn child doesn't have to learn sharing until their first brother or sister comes along, then their world suddenly has new rules. Confusing rules. They also struggle with the fact that they are no longer the center of attention in their family.  That fact may have something to do with my comedic nature. I think I realized I had to earn the attention instead of it just automatically being there like it always had been previously. I don't know how I was at sharing. I'm sure I had some trouble with it. Most kids do. Anyway, as I got older I started to value my space. I had places and things that were mine and mine alone, and I made sure it was understood. I remember having a box of "treasures" that I kept a watchful eye on. There was nothing in it of any value. It was just mine. My hallowed ground. My private things.

I began to appreciate quiet, private time away from the mainstream more and more as I got older. When I was a teen and had the usual problematic mix of raging hormones and anti-authority, I had a growing desire to strike out on my own. I couldn't wait until I was old enough to have my own place. A place that would be mine and mine alone. A place where I didn't have to be sneaky to be private. A place where I could do anything I wanted to, any time I wanted to, and would never have to worry about having to explain my actions or whereabouts to anyone. I wanted freedom.

Now I'm older, and I'm no less sneaky.  Actually, maybe even more so.  I have secret pictures, alternate email addresses, and private stories.  This blog itself is a prime example.  Very few people in my life know of its existence.  (Side note: Feel free to share this blog with friends or family if you ever find out that I have died for whatever reason.  These writings are just as important of a part of who I am as my public writings.)  It's not that I want to do anything to cause any harm--it's just a part of me that I need to have present inside.

It's my individuality.

Lone Survivor

As an avid reader and movie-watcher, some of my favorite tales are those that take place in a post-apocalyptic world. I have romanced the notion of my being one of the last people on earth many times. Although I know I'm carrying my love for solitude to the extreme, it seems to be an exciting combination of personal survival and abandoning societal rules and standards. Becoming nomadic out of necessity, moving through empty towns that were once bursting with human activity, gathering what I need to add to my hoard to ensure my survival. I think I would like the notion of being able to wear no clothing as I existed as a lonely wanderer.

There are plenty of flaws in such a dream, and I know that any world that rises up and casts mankind from its shadow would be no less hostile to me--it's lone survivor. Maybe even more so. Still, it's an interesting fantasy, albeit one of loneliness, hunger, danger, and fear. Maybe what I need is something in my life to just mix things up. A drastic change perhaps. Realistically, I think I would like to live somewhere in a desert situation, like southern Utah or northern Arizona for example. Off the grid so to speak.

To have myself be far enough from everywhere that I could escape the traps of man--the things that we have brought upon ourselves. We've painted ourselves into a corner we can't get out of. We've escalated our needs and wants to an unhealthy level. We are so busy just keeping upright on the treadmill we've created that we don't know how to get off. Everyone walks around with their face cast downward, eyes glued to their little electronic umbilical cord, not realizing that we've given our freedom away little by little. Incrementally, our love for all things electronic has placed us in a rut. We unknowingly embraced a digital world that is tailor-made for eavesdropping, information-gathering, and identity-stealing. One of these days the collective population will wonder how we could have let this happen. I know how it happened, it's simple: because it was fun. It was new and exciting. To be so plugged in to the rest of the world was amazing! Little by little we have gotten to the point that we are announcing every single thing we do all day long to the rest of the world. Yeah, it would be nice to unplug and regress back away from society and just spend my time unclothed and unencumbered.

The Passive Exhibitionist

During a recent bit of introspection and self-analysis, I coined a new term.  I am what I call a "passive exhibitionist."  I don't force myself on people, but I will place myself in hopes that someone notices me.  If it's a party or gathering of some kind I might be figuratively in the background during conversation, but I'll make a quip or answer a question that will steer the conversation.  The idea is to do something to put the focus will be on something involving me.  I will feign surprise or nonchalance, but unabashedly tell a tale, throwing my comedic slant on the delivery.  After the right amount of interaction, I will duck out or wander away at a point where the timing is appropriate.  It's a "don't overstay your welcome" kind of thing.  I don't want to dominate a conversation, but I do want to be the focus of it for a short time.

A few people that know me know me as a nudist at heart.  They know I would just as soon not be wearing clothes.  The truth is, my passive exhibitionist streak exists there too.  I will choose to be bare in a place where it's not completely out of the ordinary, but there still might be a very small chance of discovery--like my back yard for example.  When I'm lying in the sun I sometimes hope someone will stumble upon me.  There have been many times where I will leave my robe on the chair in the dining room when I'm going to go out to the garage for something and make the trek completely bare.  I know--based on the time of day, nobody being home, or whatever--that there is a chance I could be caught, but it's highly unlikely.  I might walk out to the wood pile behind the garage to get some wood, and purposely leave my robe loose in hopes it comes open on the way back when my hands are full.  Sure, I could be caught, but it would look innocent enough.

My writings follow a parallel.  I put secretive things about me on display.  I bare my soul to the world, knowing the chance of anyone really reading it are probably very slim.

The internet has enabled me.  I am able to hide behind the anonymity of my choosing if I so desire.  I can be anyone I want to be, and be as public or private as I want to be. I can post things like this blog to a place where I'm not covering up my identity, nor am I announcing it publicly.  There are also those times I have created a persona that was anonymous just so I could post things and live a little dangerously.  I had no particular plan or goal, I just wanted to put myself out there a little further than usual.  Every time I have ever done that--bar none--I have eventually deleted my account.  The thrill I initially had when I started had worn thin and was finally gone, and I no longer had that urge to be the passive exhibitionist.