Which boy in class you thought was cutest. Who had planted chewing gum on the teacher’s chair during break. How you had successfully managed to skip gym class for the fourth time in a row. When I was younger, I used to love secrets.
These days, not so much.
As you get older, secrets get more salacious and often either more hurtful or more risque and the exposure of them risks a major disruption to a regular routine. Sometimes you stumble upon a secret without even realising it, thus putting yourself in the awkward position of whether to reveal it or not. This happened to me only several months ago when I found out that my best friend’s very recent ex of 6 years had started dating someone straight out of their relationship and had most probably been seeing her previous to that.
The stress I felt over whether to tell my friend or not killed me. Shamefully I even had to share the secret with people who didn’t know my best friend, just to see whether they would’ve wanted to know had it been them in this situation. Eventually, the unanimous decision was that I should tell her. It was the worst moment I’ve possibly ever had with such a close friend. To be the one to have to break something like that to someone you care about is more than difficult. Luckily, if your friendship is solid, as ours is, then it shouldn’t matter. But I still hated being the one to have share the details of this terrible secret. And I won’t lie that for a few days, things were weird between us. She wondered how much I knew, whether I had told her everything I had discovered, whether it would have been better if she had remained ignorant to the truth. In the end though, she accepted that I had done the best thing, not just for her sanity and closure of the relationship, but also for our friendship.
So it’s for reasons like this that I hate secrets. They cause unecessary stress and a web of lies that you usually can’t keep up with. Which brings me to my current stressful secret. One that you, my lovely readers, know about all too well. My long-awaited trip.
Last week, I purchased a one-way ticket to a far-flung destination. I should be shouting from the rooftops; my dreams are finally being realised. And yet I am torn – between excitement and frustration. Because I can’t tell anyone I work with about my trip. Or certainly not for another few months until I hand my notice in. During such a difficult transition period at my company it is just far too risky. With a tight budget to try and save for, I simply can’t risk having to find a temporary job at such short notice. So whilst my head is already half way around the world planning exciting adventures and daring pursuits, my body is firmly where it has always been: in my familiar office surroundings.
And it’s killing me. I want to be able to share this excitement with them, as I know how supportive and reassuring they will all be. But unfortunately, my sensible adult head tells me that I shouldn’t. So now I have to live a lie for a few more months until I can reveal my plans.
It’s at times like this that I wish the only secret I had to keep was who had put chewing gum on the teacher’s chair. (It was Gary Booth, in case you were wondering). Life would be so much simpler.
Photo credit: See-ming Lee on Flickr
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