Sunday Secrets

I have developed a bit of an obsession with Post Secret. Have you heard of it? A friend of mine, Sarah, loves it and I found out about it from her girlfriend telling me about her love of it a few years back. In any event, what I think started out as an art project by one man, Frank somebody-rather, has turned into this world-wide phenomenon whereby people write their secrets on postcards and mail them to Frank. Each Sunday Frank chooses a few, because he gets thousands each week,  and displays them on Postsecret.com. He also has several books which are filled with the postcards, I have a few.

I love Post Secret for three reasons:

1.Each postcard is like a piece of art and is completely unique. Besides whatever words may be held there, some of the cards are absolutely beautiful.

2. Perhaps the reason why Post Secret has become the phenomenon that it has, reading other people secrets makes me realize I'm not alone. Some of them are silly and I think, why the hell did someone even go to the trouble, and some of them are graphic and shocking and horribly sad, and some of them, well some of them feel like they could have been written by me. Frank tours around college campuses and talks about his journey with Post Secret and audience members are invited to get up and speak their secrets into microphones for the entire audience to see. And from what I hear, it's quite the cathartic experience for many to say aloud the thing that they have been hiding about their lives or about themselves for years in some deep dark crevice of their soul.

3. The third reason that I love Post Secret is because of this; because it inspires courage and bravery within people to be strong in who they are and tell the world the things which may plague them or make them feel alone. It functions as a guise that says even though I may have done this or that, even though these things may have happened to me, I am still here and valuable and worthy of life and of the world. In sharing their secrets or hearing others do so, people are often brought into communion with the world of broken and wounded souls around them. In the act of speaking their truth, salvation is found.

Each week Frank includes emails from people with the postcards and there are always several that say something about how they were inspired or felt not alone when reading someone else's postcard or hearing someone else speak their secret at a live event. And this last reason is why I think Frank and Post Secret are doing God's work really. For those who are not religious, who don't go to church on Sundays or who have very little hope and faith in their life, or for those who do but who are carrying around horrible feelings of guilt or shame or sadness within themselves, Post Secret is a place to go each Sunday that has the ability to help one feel not as alone in the world as they may have all of the days before that Sunday. Should you find yourself with some time to spare this Sunday, check out Post Secret and discover a community of people who are stepping outside of the things that have happened to them or that they have done into a new, more honest, open and courage space. It just may inspire you to in your own way, do the same.


For my Sunday offering, I give you a few choice secrets of my own...

I know my dad loves me, but am afraid he will never get over the disappointment of having a gay daughter and an autistic son. I feel a horrible sense of guilt sometimes that we both unwillingly fucked it up for him.

Nobody in my family knows about my blog... or is allowed to be my friend on Facebook. Seems trivial I know, but for some reason I insist on keeping them at a distance... and not knowing at all who I really am or what I want to do with my life. I think this is some twisted form of self protection so that when I lose them, or they me, it won't hurt so bad this time.

I sucked my thumb WELL into childhood. Ouch.

I worry endlessly that I will never ever be able to get over this crippling fear I have of just jumping into my life's dreams and making them and this happen. That I will die having done nothing of significance, having not managed to make the world any better of a place while I'm here. This is perhaps my biggest fear.

I think if my mom was still alive my life would be completely different. I think I would be a lot more adept at going after what I want in life and would perhaps be much happier in my career. I also think I would have an entirely different career than the one that I currently fantasize about... because her death is I think, what unwillingly pushed me full force onto the path I now walk on in life, the direction I am heading.

I miss laying in the grass, sitting outside in a garden at sunset, and sleeping in a hammock desperately.

I worry sometimes I don't have a very good sense of myself. Because the me I feel like I am and the me people see and react to sometimes feel worlds apart.

Some of the things that secretly bring me momentary joy and utter bliss: the swing ride at the carnival where you feel like you're floating for a few minutes (my superhero power would be to fly, hands down); when small anonymous children chat me up; being on roller skates (but then, that's not really a secret at this point now is it?!); when I know Shumbi is happy as a clam and has had a good day; when Erica or Perry (my Starbucks crushes) smile at me, because they both just have the best damn smiles; when I know some little thing I have said made a difference in somebody's day (is that really obnoxious to say? Probably); and last but not least, writing. Little else in the world brings me more joy than writing because it is here on the blank page, on the glowing computer screen, where my fingers are able to finally say all the things my mouth is too afraid to.

May you find some time on this Sunday to share a hidden piece of yourself with the world or to witness somebody else as they do so and give thanks. Namaste.

Maybe

It's Saturday night. 7:27pm. I'm sitting in my bed, in my pajamas. My work day started at eight this morning and I finally dragged my poor old tired legs to my car around 645 this evening. Needless to say, it was a long day. And a hard one. Our busiest of the year in fact. We did over four thousand dollars in sales, that's a lot of lattes, and we sold over 275 Frappuccinos. That's the name of our blended beverages for those of you who don't 'speak Starbucks. Long story short, today was chaos from the word go and my body is literally aching; most especially my feet and my back.

I came home to an empty house and it's too quite in here. Shumba was seemingly happy to see me but really he just wanted his dinner. After I fed him he went and laid in the other room with his favorite teddy bear toy and ignored me when I called his name. My last interaction with the roommate yesterday morning ended in quite an ugly manner and she's at work tonight but I'm sure will either still be mad at me or won't want to speak to me at all next time our paths cross. All day long I took care of other people. I served hundreds of customers. I picked their garbage up off the floor that they couldn't seem to throw in the trash can. I wiped up their messes. I made their drinks, I gave stickers to their children, I smiled and was friendly even when they were rude to me because it's important to me that my interactions with others leave them feeling happy even if they treat me like dirt. I gave my amazing, hard working partners breaks before myself and I stopped on the way in an bought doughnuts and fruit and juice for breakfast for everyone. Not a single person said thank you. Last weekend I spent 11 hours on my day off preparing and serving coffee to rich Oregonians at an art auction benefitting Cascade Aids Project and this week I will be trying to help plan Starbucks participation in the Oregon Humane Society Doggie Dash next weekend. In what little spare time I've had this week I surfed the web endlessly, and to no avail, to try to find my brother a cheap place to live in North Portland by the end of the month. I also need to find a storage unit and go over to his house to help him sort through and pack up the spare bedroom full of what remains of my mom and grandparents belongings before we actually get him moved in the next few weeks. I haven't been grocery shopping in over two weeks and today I ate the following: two doughnuts, a bag of dried apples, a bag of popcorn, a turkey bacon breakfast sandwich minus the turkey bacon, some strawberries, and for dinner I had two stale chocolate chip cookies and about a gallon of water. The dirty laundry is piling up in the corner of my bedroom and my dog is getting fat because he doesn't get walked enough and today... well, today I feel like I am starting to fray from the inside out. I'm starting to feel hopeless... and even on a bad day, I still usually can find hope that tomorrow will be better.

   Lately in my life I feel like all I do is give of myself to other people and other causes and I never get to spend much time doing anything for myself. Don't get me wrong, I like doing things for other people. It makes me feel useful, worthwhile and happy to know that I was able to make someone's day happier or brighter or easier. But when you do this day in and day out and with very little thanks, it can sometimes, as today, grow tiring and lead to the ignoring of one's own needs. Truth be told, I did buy myself a new outfit earlier this week and some new shoes too. That was pretty exciting... until I paid all of my bills the other night and realized that shopping trip to try to cheer myself up maybe wasn't the best idea I ever had. I know my life is blessed beyond belief; that I'm more fortunate and wealthy and privileged than most of the world in fact, but lately life still just feels too damn hard and awful damn lonely. It sucks coming home from work on horrible days like today to a dirty kitchen, an empty refrigerator, an achy body, and sad soul, and not having anyone who gives a damn. Friends are barbecuing  on this warm night with their family or going out to do something fun with their partners or friends because they have some semblance of a weekend and social life and balance between their work and personal lives and tomorrow most of them will celebrate or recognize mothers day in some way. And I will go to church alone, and I will listen to a sermon about how important and wonderful moms are, and I will be sad as sad can be and then and I will come home to a quiet, empty house and be sad some more. I will do my laundry and clean the bathroom, because I always clean the bathroom on Sundays and maybe just maybe I will go to the grocery store and by eight I will be in bed reading because I have to get up for work at three on Mondays. And then the whole cycle starts all over again.

  But Monday is a new day. It is not a tired today and not a sad tomorrow. Maybe it will rain and I will be happy that its cool out again. Maybe, just maybe one of the hundreds of people I serve every day and people I manage will thank me for how hard I work and how much of my life I give to my stupid job. Maybe I will drive across the St. Johns bridge, three mountains in view, and exhale a little bit into the beauty of the world. Maybe I will cook myself a healthy, balanced, filling meal and feel fortunate to be so lucky. Maybe my roomate will decide I'm not such an asshole after all and by some miraculous twist of fate, we will find my brother a place that he can afford and get him packed up and moved in the next three weeks. Maybe I will find time to get my laundry done and feel happy and good about myself as I step out into the world smelling of fabric softener. Maybe I will read something fantastic and inspiring and be reconnected with the dreams I have for my life that on many days I'm too busy and tired to remember about. Maybe a friend I miss dearly will want to get together. Maybe and actually probably, many of these things will happen in the next week and my soul will be a little bit restored and I will see the light again and I will remember what an unspeakable blessing this one life is and remember how fortunate and lucky a girl I am and I will be able again to recognize everything positive and grace-filled and lovely that makes my life and the world and the people around me what they are. And I will be happy again.