One of my all time favorite blogs is postsecret. On this website they post scans of post cards, sent anonymously, each containing a secret. They are sad, funny, and sometimes disturbing. This year they published a book which I recently picked up. As I flipped through the book, marking my favorites, I found myself saddened that more of the submitters didn’t have anyone in their life to share their secrets with.

I believe the sadness I felt, allegedly viewing someone else’s secrets, is really a reflection of my own sadness. While I imagine that I feel sad that the baptist minister’s wife can’t tell someone that she doesn’t believe in God, the bigger truth is that I am sad that I am so full of stories that I am unwilling to share.

I have started to make my own postcard to send in to the postsecret web site on more than one occasion. I always find myself stuck; which secrets and how do I represent it best? The blank space on the card becomes a prison rather than a window.

If we become our own myths, is it possible that my hesitance to actively participate in the making of my own myth will result in delays in my personal development?

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