[ lockbox
Im driven by the need to understand the world around me. I look at things, I compare things, I try to understand things. I try to visualise how it all fits together, how Im related to something distant, and if not why not. I understand that I can change the world, usually by dreaming over a cup of coffee. Im by no means a writer, but I find myself scribbling down stuff that makes no sense at all, barely having any relevance the day after it has been put to paper. In my day job, I am a form of story teller (a poor one at that ) come artist (more dreams over coffee), but the reality is, I swear too much to be a story teller and not enough to be an artist.
So what brings me to a point that I need express in written words that which I could easily just say out loud, get it over and done with and then move on? Well, I guess its therapy. I was always told that writing down your problems acts as a release and allows you to more clearly see the problems you face. I get that…. a release yes, it does feel liberating to type a bunch of words down and get it off your chest. At the same time it allows me to think what it is I am trying to say more accurately, though recalling the fantastic phrases that I come up with when needed ends up being a confused mess of disjointed arguments that appears that I have read a lot of motivational scripts from theology and psychology and cherry picked one after the other to create a personal sermon from hell. I am neither articulate or polite, I bluster and blunder trying to find my correct meaning, and I over think. I jump from topic to topic and incoherent in approach and direction. This ends up with me not actually saying what I wanted to say because it all feels wrong come time to say it. But, despite all that I am still compelled to get it out. It is the genuine fear that I allow a lesson of life, a reason, a story, a friendship to go unchecked or more importantly…. go to waste.
We all have our own stories. Important ones, and not so important ones, but no doubt ones that bring us to the point where we are at today. Ones that make up the very fabric of who we are. These stories that we collect, and all the baggage that comes with them are locked away in a lockbox deep down inside. Who we choose to share those things with, we give keys to. Usually these people are the people that we trust, the people we consider close to and ones that will hopefully bring meaning, fulfilment and or contentment to our lives. Anyone having a key to your lockbox has access to the truth, the real you. Stripped back raw, honest truthful and bare,….YOU.
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Not many of us are courageous enough to allow all of that into public space. So we choose only the people who are likely to understand. Sometimes we get that wrong, and sometimes we pay the consequence for that. Sometimes people hand back the key, because the burden of holding that responsibility can be more than they bargained for. Thats just part of life. This lockbox is our personal treasure. Our lock boxes are the things that are just there as a matter of consequence to the way we react, act and live in the world around us and a collection of memorabilia from our past. Our fears, our hates, our sorrow, and our happiness. The things we wish to keep and the things we wish to throw out, the prejudices, the loves, the secrets.
I have always been an empathic person. Someone that can understand the views, the feelings and especially the emotions of others and how they came to be there. Because of this, I am quite handy at reading through the layers of a person to see parts of their true self. Its both a gift and a curse. Ive become impatient, wanting to get to the truth, the real person behind the persona so to speak. Ive formulated the “cut the crap who are you?” phrase. When there is something underneath a person, something that wants to be told but the person is locking that away, I can tell. Their emotions give them away, their body language gives them away. They just don’t want to give people the keys.. and so they shouldn’t at least not without trusting them.
So there in lies the problem with me. Im an empathic that knows when people have a truth, their truth….or have the innate capability to have a conversation worth having about their truthful self, (or mine) and they don’t know you well enough to give you a key. Its not that I want to pry, and ingest their inner secrets. Thats awful. For me its about connection. I feel lost without connection without substance. People who are honest with themselves who have a truth to them make the best friends and connections, because you operate at such a deeper level of conversation, it becomes an experience, a moment a constant lesson of life. To understand a person in their deepest self is such a bond that it transcends mere friendship. Sure we can talk about what was on TV, but I will probably start to look a bit wistful if we go over 10 minutes on such topics. I’d rather talk about the real you. What makes you laugh, what makes you cry. What are the things that have brought you here. The things that really matter. The stories and things that will make me understand you, and if needed stand up and be by your side when needed, and I will because I am deeply loyal, and sincerely will protect you with everything I can. If you share that bond with me I will be your strongest advocate no matter what truths you have stored. Sometimes when I know there is a bond and connection that can be made but it doesn’t eventuate, I feel an intense feeling of failure. I have let something special slip through my hands. That is the destructive part of all this.
With that, I begin the tales of my lockbox. The stories of why I am who I am, the way I think, The way I feel, why I cry, why I laugh, why I love and hate. I give you a key, that partially opens my inner self, my truths, my realisations as a person, and friend, and sometimes just the rambling of an idiot. And if no one is reading, then this is all a dream I had over a coffee.
