“If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself.”
G. Orwell – futurist, humorist, above-average Joe
It’s all so confusing. What is the statute of limitations on keeping our own secrets? And when does a secret cross the line and become insurance? I still keep a few, those that are worthy of the effort even though some secrets are buried so deep, it will take a retired farmer with a divining rod to help me figure out where to dig. It would be a bonus if I could find that hidden file where I keep all my passwords. Hopefully, one of those passwords might jog my memory as to whether I need to reorder those insidious masks.
According to my lovely wife, I kept my dislike of corn-on-the-cob a secret from her for almost 30-years. Occasionally she would find an ear in the Wonder Pup’s food bowl; I thought maybe she would get the hint. My mistake; I am sure that this secret is still safe, she seldom reads my posts. Apparently, she doesn’t understand my humor. I wonder why she didn’t tell me a generation ago. I guess she keeps her secrets too.
I kept my membership in the club a secret as long as I could. The secret handshake is still a secret; I kept it secure on my watch. It didn’t hurt that I was in the wrong line. I thought for sure the instructions were to line-up for a secret milkshake. There were a select few that I told as a courtesy, thinking that given their titles, they had the maturity and the know-how to keep a confidential conversation, just that. As it turns out, I would have been better off telling that secret to an SUV full of high school girls, or a drunken sailor, or their equivalents, members of Congress during an election year.
Some of my secrets may not be secrets much longer. A few weeks ago, my lovely wife informed me that I was talking in my sleep. She said that she couldn’t understand what I was saying, but I was smiling during my dream. That certainly narrows it down to ice-cream, firearms, or cars that go too fast. Thankfully, I’m fluent in Druid; otherwise, I might have to explain a purchase or two from Cabella’s, that am not at liberty to discuss.
In retrospect, I’m confident that there aren’t any forgotten secrets worth protecting or worthy of years of therapy to help in recalling, at least, that’s how I recorded it in my password-protected journal. But then again, I wouldn’t trust just anyone to keep a secret. Rumor has it that I am running for dog-catcher, or as the story goes, I have been seen running to catch my dog.
Keeping secrets is all so confusing.
Thanks for reading, liking, and sharing.
Next time you decide to chase a rabbit, you’re on your own, pup.
Al and his faithful, but liberated sidekick, Ivy the Wonder Pup.
I think you are confusing freedom with liberty, Ivy. Freedom is like getting out of your collar or you when forget to wear a mask. Liberty means that no one is going to hunt you down like a runaway dog when you do.