dare to share

it's hard to forget the sheer terror i felt during one break-up, as i wondered if i was ever going to get my favourite book back. maybe that sounds cold... but the way i see it, losing a friend/significant other is bad enough. losing cherished belongings, on top of all that? pretty brutal.

i tend to track the geography of friendships: where we enjoyed meals, where we walked, where we listened to that band, where we spoke difficult truths, where we bought that gift, where we chatted in your car for hours, where i cried, where you told me that secret, where we sat in angry silence.

in the wake of broken friendships, i take stock of things a little bit, and, inevitably, i wonder if i shared too much. not just too many significant places, but personal treasures, too: recipes and books and ambitions and inside jokes and fears and stories and friends. they're not just mine anymore.

but, listen: the truth is that there's just no way to begin to understand me if you don't read a particular children's book. you have to read it yourself because i can't tell you what it means about me. i just know it's central. when is the time to mention that? (i've learned it's rarely the time to lend out the copy i've had since i was six. see above.)

see, it's not always insecurity that makes self-revelation so damn hard: some things really are diminished when revealed too often, and friendships really are diminished in the absence of genuine intimacy. so, it's not just hard. it's complicated.

i once asked a friend if there was anything i could do for him. he said, "just be yourself." the question is, how much?