PostSecret at the U of M

So I attended, on the 23rd of October, the PostSecret event at the U of M. [That link takes you to the Facebook page, where you can see the 375 uploaded secrets from [mostly] my collection of postsecrets over the years.

The event started with Frank sharing some of his favourite secrets, as well as the stories behind them. Interwoven in this was the story of his parents, both not really 'getting' the postsecret thing [and it's true- I've found it's really hard to describe postsecret to someone, even after buying them the book and placing a personal secret on the last page]. Frank showed some secrets that were banned from the PostSecret books, for various reasons. And then he shared that Wal-Mart has refused to carry any of the books, which really surprised me. And made me gleeful a bit at the same time. Makes me like the books a little bit more. And then Frank concluded, and told the story of how his wife flew his father out for one of the PostSecret events, and I thought that was really touching, that his father started to get it. I wish my mother got it. I wish I'd mailed in that secret that I stuck in the back of her book. I wish PostSecret was something she and I could share. But I digress.

Then the mics opened up. And here's where it not only got really personal, but it was the point I'd been waiting for; sitting in a dark room with strangers and sharing secrets or stories, or asking Frank questions. And something odd happened. I got up and shared my secret. With 498 strangers. I talked about the secret that has changed my life, and still changes my life, in different moments everyday. Of how it's not even my postcard, but it is very much my secret. And I realise this is going to sound like I'm being coy or something, but I'm leaving that secret in that room, and in that bunch of secrets I linked to. Other people shared secrets, and stories, and cried, and hurt, and it was sad and beautiful all mixed into one. At the very end, a slideshow/video played.

When I left the event, someone I didn't know was going to be there- a friend- came up and approached me and told me how brave I was. I'm not sure if I'm brave. I'm not sure if I've ever been brave, in all the secrets I've kept or created. I've been human though, and so have the secrets, and I suppose that's all that matters. And I suppose that's it.

It feels like words can't really explain the experience of PostSecret, because as much as it is images and stories, it's also tears and laughter, and pieces of humanity that are allowed to just be. Putting that into some sort of adequate phrasing or elegant words ... I can't do that. So I hope this sufficed.

Laughter is so healing.

I love laughter. I love how good it feels to laugh. I love how infectious it is. I love that people who laugh are happy. I love how pure, and simple, and beautiful it is. Not laughter at a television show, or a funny joke, but pure, happiness. That sort of laughter. I love that you can laugh about nothing, about everything, about life and the simple moments. About tiny pieces of humanity that are, in that moment, whole.

I never thought I'd be saying this Saturday night. Saturday night when I curled up and sobbed and wondered why I didn't have anything to help me fall asleep.

I think I dwell too much, sometimes, on what happened; it's so easy to have happen, and then I'm back there and it's real all over again. Sometimes it's incredibly way too easy to get so lost. And Saturday night, I was lost. I was so lost. And I hadn't slept, and I didn't know how to make it from point A to point B, I didn't even know where points A and B were. And so I did what I usually do, and pretended that it was all okay, and that there was nothing wrong, and that I was fine. And usually, that works. [The nights, like Saturday night, and right now, that I sleep on the couch, I think it doesn't work so well, and my room-mates can totally tell and are judging me for it- hey- it's not paranoia if they're really after you.] Usually, I do something like bake, or go shopping, or get out of the damned house and go to a party and drink away.

But something was different about Sunday. I asked a room-mate to 'hang-out' with me [and he, darling that he is, agreed even after we both acknowledged that we fail utterly at the concept of 'hanging out']. And I don't know how to explain it ... but I found the ability to laugh. To really laugh. To get go and stop thinking so much. And it was beautiful. I'm not sure if my room-mate wants to take credit, but if he does, it's all his [And the Recount Story of the Day™ posts with comments from the Kare11 boards. Oh, the goddamn insanity of that election]. I could go on about how surprised I was that it was a him, given the anniversaries and circumstances, but maybe ... maybe that's how it was supposed to happen. I'm not a karmic person. I don't believe in fate. But I do know that if I don't open up and trust, even on tiny friendship levels, I'll never be able to do it- I'll always be walled off. I had another friend send me a really moving, wonderful email after my room-mate went to bed- after I'd sent him a really emotionally email on Saturday night. And it was so relieving to read it, and maybe that's because of the healing laughter with my room-mate from earlier.

But it was love and happy and some degree of peace- and trust. All in tiny steps.

And as long as I've got that love, that trust in tiny steps, and as long as I have healing laughter, I think I'll be okay. I think I'll be able to get through the rest of today, and tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.