I have a secret.
I know there are four more interesting words, but I'm not sure I can think of them right now. Mostly because my mind is fixated on "I have a secret."
Can anyone even say those four words louder than a whisper? And without leaning in just a bit. Can you hear them without also leaning forward. Aren't you just dying to know why someone would say, "I have a secret"?
The story goes that during show-and-tell I told my third grade teacher that I had a secret, but I couldn't tell her for nine months. Somehow she guessed that I was going to have a baby sister. But all I said to her was, "I have a secret."
Teens can be great at keeping secrets from adults. Monosyllabic grunts. Staring at screens. Sneaking up to their rooms to avoid conversations. Rolling their eyes in lieu of talking. But, for many of them, texting or Snapping or Instagramming or Tokking (is that a verb?), they find ways to overshare when there's not a face-to-face connection. And then screenshots and likes and reposts spread the news, depriving them of the opportunity to say, "I have a secret."
I started this post thinking about my run yesterday. Even though it was only in the mid-40s, the sun was out. Only a hint of a breeze skimmed across my face. The brisk air was just sharp enough to make the warmth of the sun feel fresh. My steady stride skimmed me across the park and the stress of the day seeped out of my muscles. I thought about the power of my muscles propelling me forward. I felt the responsibilities and anxieties moving into perspective. And I thought, I have a secret.
I know there are four more interesting words, but I'm not sure I can think of them right now. Mostly because my mind is fixated on "I have a secret."
Can anyone even say those four words louder than a whisper? And without leaning in just a bit. Can you hear them without also leaning forward. Aren't you just dying to know why someone would say, "I have a secret"?
The story goes that during show-and-tell I told my third grade teacher that I had a secret, but I couldn't tell her for nine months. Somehow she guessed that I was going to have a baby sister. But all I said to her was, "I have a secret."
Teens can be great at keeping secrets from adults. Monosyllabic grunts. Staring at screens. Sneaking up to their rooms to avoid conversations. Rolling their eyes in lieu of talking. But, for many of them, texting or Snapping or Instagramming or Tokking (is that a verb?), they find ways to overshare when there's not a face-to-face connection. And then screenshots and likes and reposts spread the news, depriving them of the opportunity to say, "I have a secret."
I started this post thinking about my run yesterday. Even though it was only in the mid-40s, the sun was out. Only a hint of a breeze skimmed across my face. The brisk air was just sharp enough to make the warmth of the sun feel fresh. My steady stride skimmed me across the park and the stress of the day seeped out of my muscles. I thought about the power of my muscles propelling me forward. I felt the responsibilities and anxieties moving into perspective. And I thought, I have a secret.