I Believe I Believe
I believe in secrets. Deep, dark, breathless secrets. Whether big or small, we need them. Secrets. A truth, that only we know, that if told could only make us less than perfect. I already believe my friends are perfect, and I don’t need to know the rest.
I have secrets. Secrets of dreams not yet fulfilled, of failures and of plans for the future. And that’s a good thing, because as long as I keep my secret, it drives me to do bigger, better things. Whether it’s a memory of what I never want to happen again, or an ambition for what’s to come, the secret acts like fire in my gut. I would never extinguish that fire with the banal water of words. I need the flames to push and pull me into warmer, brighter days.
I believe that it is better not to know everything about someone. I love a good mystery. Although I must admit: I’m not the best detective, but I like a good challenge.
I believe life should read like a good book: you can’t know everything until the end, and even then I’ll slap a cliff-hanger on you.
Despite my selfish need for discretion, some secrets are meant to be shared by two people. When shared, secrets act like glue, keeping you close to the ones that are most important to you. I’ll tell you one secret. I’ll whisper it to you, like blowing out the flame of a candle.
More than anything, I like to be surprised. I believe that everyday of my life is like a birthday gift. My days come neatly wrapped, in colorful facades of plans and people, but I never know what’s in store for me until I tear the layers back. I don’t know what your present will be today or how big or expensive it was, and I don’t care. All I know is that you received it, and that’s enough for me.
If you enjoyed this essay, please consider making a tax-deductible contribution to This I Believe, Inc.