Listen…Do you want to hear a secret?…Do you promise not to tell?
Closer…Let me whisper in your ear…tell you words you want to hear…
I’ve known a secret for a day or two, and that’s approximately as long as I will remember it.
When I die, my kids are going to rip the office apart looking for my secret diary and be sadly disappointed.
I destroyed my old journals and diaries.
I simply didn’t have any secrets worth saving. No treasure maps. No secret sauce recipes from my great-great-great grandmother. No answer for world hunger.
Distilling my thoughts and releasing emotions are now done in a gym workout.
I just don’t see the point in remembering angst and troubles. Live them and learn from them and move on. You can’t move forward while looking backward, and there are so many places I still want to go.
So go ahead…tell me your secret. And make it a good one.
What do you know that you don’t want anyone else to know?
Perhaps you’re Batman?
Do you have a locket? A safe? An underground rebellion? A secret Facebook identity?
It’s eating you up, isn’t it?
Your secret could be a new tattoo or an inside tip on the stock market.
Maybe you know someone else’s secret, but are sworn not to tell.
Once people find out though, it’s not a secret anymore, and the fun’s gone.
Sometimes you’re even in jail.
Or a millionaire. Lucky you, Bruce Wayne.
This is why secrets go into diaries. In code. We have to tell someone!
Everyone has skeletons in the closet, so to speak, and my thought is that if they’ve been in there long enough to set up house and have pets, perhaps you could take them out and play with them once in a while.
And if they’re not entertaining, evict them.
In our family, we have what we call “Happy Memories”. If you secretly pulled a prank or broke the rules (and maybe the furniture) in your childhood, and you are now an adult, you get to entertain the family with the story.
If your mother’s brow begins to furrow when you get to the middle of it (or maybe your children are creeping ever closer, looking aghast), you may want to rethink your plan and wait another ten years or so.
Apparently, it’s not quite a “Happy Memory” just yet.
I can always take a little stroll under my family tree. There are plenty of diary leaves that rustle in the breeze of inquiry, but they belong to others.
Big life-changing pages. Little innocent ones.
You don’t have to worry about them leaking out.
If it’s not written down, it doesn’t exist.
Including the dirt I have on you.
Oh, a good scandal now and then may be worth putting into a novel some day. If you recognize yourself in one, be thankful I gave you an alias and enjoy the secret fame.
But in the meantime, there is no diary for your mother to find.
Your secret is safe with me.