I’m falling in love with the hidden parts of us. Here’s why

Photo by Kristina Flour on Unsplash

I'm falling in love with the hidden parts of us and here’s why

I know people's secrets. A lot of them. As a minister, people share so many important parts of their lives with me. 

My job has turned me into Bruce Willis' character in The Sixth Sense, except instead of dead people, I see hidden parts of people's lives. And they are everywhere. On a Sunday morning, I look out on the congregation, and I see hidden things. I know the father who is desperately struggling with addiction and hopes no one in his family finds out. I know the woman in the third row killed someone in a drunk driving accident 20 years ago. I know that the man passing the collection plate is about to get divorced. He doesn't know that yet, but I do, because his spouse told me weeks ago with a shaky voice that she can't do this anymore.

Secretly Mortal

It was Ash Wednesday 2019. James, let's call him James, was standing in front of me at the front of the sanctuary. I was about to smear his forehead with ashes and say, "Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return." He came forward and looked at me with eyes that spoke clearer than any words that night. Only a few people knew that he had a terminal disease. This would be the last time I smeared ash on his forehead with those words. James hadn't told many people. He wanted the news private. The secret kept others from constantly asking "How are you" in a tone that adults use when they talk to toddlers. His secret was that he was turning to dust faster than anyone else in the room. And it was his to keep.

Not all the hidden things are painful or salacious. Sometimes they are hilarious, boring, or beautiful. There's a 78-year old man I know who writes slam poetry online under a pseudonym. Sometimes, the most painful secret is the tremendous beauty and talent someone keeps to themselves. Do you know how many people write, play music, or make art and don't tell a soul?

We share a lot online right now, but some things will always be ours alone.

In his novel, The Illumination, Kevin Brockmeier presents a world where a mysterious event causes people's pain to emanate from their bodies in the form of light. We can literally see pain. The wounds shimmer.

We don't live in that world. We live in a world of self-disclosure instead. We share what we eat. We write blog posts and take selfies. We offer grand takes on global politics while waiting in line at the grocery store. Self-help gurus encourage "authenticity," but the word is running out of currency the more everyone uses it. No matter how much we share about ourselves in person or online, it is a curated self. That's not a bad thing, it’s just true. We pick the right pictures, the right quotes, even the right struggles to confess. There's always something left invisible to the world, though. Underneath all that constant posting of the "real" us, something else is alive.

Secrets can be tremendous teachers if we listen.

That man who knew he was going to die and no one else did? He shook hands with people that last year like he was holding treasure in his hands. There was something special when only he knew it. The retiree with an art studio hidden in the back of their apartment? The one who wakes up with paint-stained fingers? They know more than anyone that each person they meet is an artist. The woman who feels helpless against what's inside a bottle? When she listens to that feeling, she treats everyone she meets as if she's your grandmother who knows you’re doing the best you can.

The hidden parts of you? Keep them or share them. That’s your business. Whatever you do, listen to them.

Our secrets are wise. They point to what we fear and what we love. They remind us that everyone is carrying something and deserves grace. They remind us that we don't know everything, and we never will.

There is a hidden world all around you, one that is brilliant, painful, and beautiful. Stay humble, stay kind. Keep moving.