our secrets

When I say that I have always been a person who collects the intimate details about the lives of others, I mean to say that I am surely nothing less than a crude gossip, and nothing more than an open ear. I hear everything. Nothing goes unnoticed. And in hearing those intimate details, I often times here things that are painful to speak about, that are of hurt and suffering, that are of pain and remorse. These things both haunt me and are an excercise in empathy, the human condition. I get to practice understanding what other people are going through without even trying really. I can`t help it. Its my whole life, this experience of empathy that never shuts off. It is in everything, television programmes, the stories of my family history, the tales of friendships past, in films and in music.

I am a sensitive person and my body moves to hear your secrets. With each divulgence, I spill more of my own. When we enter into a social contract together, we each give up a piece so that we might be better understood, better read, better people. It has only dawned on me recently that this isn`t a game. People tell me serious things. And I dole out serious things too. I am left with nothing for admiration for those who find the courage to tell me their secrets, because I think that for me, the exercise is different. I can`t keep anything in. I talk about everything. When Ì can`t talk, I find myself crying easily and taking myself far too seriously.

After keeping my own secrets and having a year filled with drama (Has it already been a year? Where has it gone? Where has she gone? Where have they gone?) I have landed on the other side. I keep nothing secret. I tell people my most embarassing faults and weaknesses within minutes, if only so that they might be able to protect themselves. Some exclaim at my openness. Others validate my big, fat, wide mouth by addressing how well I know I seem to know myself. This always means more to me than it should, because humility is something I have to work very, very hard at. But after a lot of talking, hours, sometimes 8 hours a day to anyone that will listen, I believe my methods are working. I am a recovering liar and manipulator. Its not a secret anymore. I have no reason to feel ashamed.

And for those that I have lost, friends and lovers for my year of disorderly conduct, and for the respect for me that they took with them when they left, I find myself thinking fondly of our time together, the laughter, the travel, the hugs, the supportive talks, and the list of other things I love and crave about the company of women. I can say, whilst holding my head high, that I have filled my life, my new life, with people who I am honest with, with people I get to practice being a better person with, with people who I am genuinely excited to know because they understand this journey. I have purged it all. Its all out on the dance floor. And every night we gather, we drink, and we dance away the sins of life past. And I am a better person for them. And I am happy, happier than I have ever been.

Please send me your secrets, so I can continue this project. And for those old friends that watch from afar, I wish you all the happiness in the world. If you like, you can dance with us.