"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.
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