“We are all a little schizophrenic. Each of us has three different people living inside us every day—who you were, who you are and who you will become. The road to sanity is to recognize those identities, in order to know who you are today.”  (Shannon L. Alder) 

Another 3 a.m. and I spring up, as if I’m living in Victorian times and the bed warmer the chambermaid has placed between my sheets has maneuvered itself into an uncompromising position.  In mornings past, I would have defaulted to silence and prayer, perhaps a cup of coffee, before heading back to the best part of sleep, the hours between 5 a.m. and 7 a.m. when the mind and body wrestle to the finish line and the mind wins by infiltrating dreams with the bizarre and unfathomable.  Since God and I have become the best of friends in recent years, He absolves me with free reign … “Go, have fun.  Dig through your closet to try to find that Donna Karan top you swear you didn’t gift to Goodwill and you might come across a crumpled $20 bill forgotten in a jacket pocket.  Listen to the incomparable and much-missed Joan Rivers on YouTube.  Better yet, write.  Fire up the noggin and let it fly. “ 

Therein lies the quandary with blogging.  Exactly how much of oneself should be revealed through shared stories? The younger version of myself believed in being circumspect, propelled by a mix of decorum, propriety and layered insecurity, but the older version, the one who calculates remaining years on earth in double or triple-digit months and is fearless enough to pluck a wayward chin hair with a fingernail, thinks differently.  “C’mon … let those digits sing.  What do you have to lose?”  

This blogpost is about unraveling the onion, one layered skin at a time.  Do sharing intimate details about one’s life and experiences bring us closer to others, or does it serve as ammunition for potential retribution?  The consensus of too many social media commenters is that it brings one closer to the hundreds of friends they’ve never met who serve as therapists, sans the co-pay.  I lean toward being tight-lipped, which can be an admirable trait depending on your vantage. Need to bury the body and get it off your chest? I can take a secret to the grave. To assess if someone is worthy of personal disclosure, first test the waters with a false narrative. If by their third glass of wine, a mutual acquaintance divulges they’ve heard about your alleged affair with a high school principal, you’ll have ground zero of the talebearer.  

With that, let me share a story – and a life lesson – from the archives.  For the sake of anonymity, I’ll use pseudonyms for this couple.  Let’s call the woman “Sharon,” and the man “Harry:”

“Sharon and Harry had a tumultuous relationship that lasted past its expiration date.  For those who have been in a relationship that has curdled like sour milk, it’s known that bad behavior accrues with compound interest.  One night Sharon and Harry were out to dinner at a swanky restaurant with two other couples.  The wine and the conversation were flowing in equal measure.  Harry, who believed his wants always took precedence over everyone else’s, tried to persuade another husband to join forces with him in doing something his wife was uncomfortable with.   

As Sharon turned and whispered in Harry’s ear to ease up on the subject, Harry took his soup spoon, still coated with luxurious lobster bisque, and with the rounded back of it slowly drew a streak down Sharon’s cheek—just enough to demean and violate, yet subtle enough that no one else at the table seemed to notice. Sharon, stunned and guarded not to cause a scene, excused herself to the ladies’ room, where she took a deep breath, cleansed her face, and returned to the table with quiet composure.”

Life Lesson: Some moments permanently alter the direction of a life. They become frozen in memory, and from that point forward, retreat is no longer an option.

As I finish this post, dawn is breaking, and I hope to drift back to sleep for an hour or two, where I’ll probably dream of having lunch with my deceased grandmother or being chased by a coyote. I’ll keep trying to keep it real, one layer at a time.