It was a story about Frank Warren. Maybe you know of him or maybe you heard the story, too? People from all over the world write their secrets on postcards and address and send them to Warren. He posts them here every Sunday. He told Guy Raz the story of the beginning of this idea. How he randomly passed out several self-addressed postcards one day in Washington D.C. and boldly asked people to write their secrets. The response was staggering. Not only did he receive many of those postcards, as people got wind of it, they made or bought their own postcards and sent them.
But this really isn’t a post about Frank Warren. It’s a post about how Warren’s story and actions have me thinking about writing my secrets. It’s to my relief that people desperately want to write and share their secrets. I’m no longer alone in that feeling.
I wonder if revealing a secret is a part of why I write, or we write? Is there a wish to share pieces of our secret selves through this controlled, thoughtful, and expressive medium? I don’t think secrets are simple or simply dark, evil, or dirty. I believe there are all kinds of secrets. A secret can be a wish for love. A secret, when told, can heal. A secret said out loud can be a voice for millions who are silenced.
Here is a secret: I’m terrified to write.
Here is another secret: I have a profound desire to write.