Every once in a while, I feel like divulging my soul to someone. Just…reaching in, pulling out a precious, little, sparkly pieces of soul and just gifting it to someone because I’m tired of carrying it around.
SO in times like this, I turn to the internet so I can spill my guts to the faceless millions. Because that makes sense.
But tonight, instead of having an emotional equivalent of a one night stand with the internet, I’ll hold onto all the weird little sparkly bits that I own as a soul. Not to mention, it’s never as fulfilling as you hope it will be. How can it? How can you be filled by tearing off pieces of yourself and giving them away?
It’s not fulfilling because people can’t be trusted. And since all of you know that, have experienced betrayal, even if it was of that one stupid little secret that didn’t really matter except to YOU, I won’t elaborate any more. Because people don’t always recognize the preciousness of our little soul pieces.
And what’s worse, sometimes we overrate the preciousness of our soul pieces. And by that, I think I mean that they have emotional weight and value, but intrinsically, our secrets are relatively silly. Small. Uninteresting. Normal. That’s not supposed to make you feel lesser than or stupid for holding them so sacred, but realize there are SO many other people out there who are unrequited lovers, victims of abuse, lonely, easily scared, afraid of attachment, grieving, dirty… It means that maybe you should give the secret weight because it’s yours and it matters to you, not because it’s so life threateningly awful on its own.
Most of us are not murderers, great spies, or really anything that is truly secret worthy. A lot of us lead very normal, painless lives, touched by those tragedies that wouldn’t even light up other peoples’ radars. The deaths of parents. Sicknesses. Loss of friendships. Minor betrayals. Dreams and desires no one has ever heard. All so normal. All so very, very intimately, our own.
And we speak those secrets, they look less…terrible. Significant. Important, in the daylight. And that hurts worse than betrayal. How can you impart, in words, the feelings, the history, the depth of experience that a dream, a fear, a secret is to someone who has not harbored that secret themselves?
But that’s where being normal is. Maybe that person never had the dream of riding through a meadow on a stallion. And they think that sounds kinda goofy and blase. But suddenly that person remembers how desperately they wanted to swim. Not just, jump in a pool, swimming, but real, deep sea, never coming up for air, just gliding through water, kind of swimming. And while they don’t understand the horse dream, they know how vulnerably badly they want to swim like that. And for glimmering moment, they understand the dream.
The same can be said for phobias, losses, memories, hopes, and any other secret. Tapping into our own empathy is what makes it possible for us to recognize other people’s sparkly little bits of soul for the precious thing they are: lives seldom told, often harboured jealously, dying and hoping to be seen and cherished by someone else.
Emotional one night stands are bad. But divulging your soul to trusted sources is not. I think, in time, they’ll understand when you’re being truly vulnerable and treasure that vulnerability. Choose wisely whom you share your soul with. Don’t let them throw the sparkle away.