I used to think that sharing music was one of the most intimate things one could do. Having a song sit in a playlist because you told them the title, or the name of the band. Something you held just for yourself, cleverly shared with another, meaningful or meaningless; it was up to you. Every time that song plays, the first beats of the melody, forever they think of you or you of them; together it becomes yours. But who do we choose to share our exclusivities with, those songs we keep to ourselves, only ever playing when we are alone? Do we ever? And how do we deem someone worthy to hold something with the same care we do? Or do we share to get them to claw through an idea, air out our wrongs to set us right again.
Why do we share?
How do we share?
In more ways than one, sharing becomes the backbone of human interaction. The conversation of a dinner party, swelling, bouncing up the stairs. To share ideas. Inviting someone over to lay side by side on the bed, staring at the ceiling, recalling childhood memories. To share space, to share laughter. A stranger in the store with a baby in a stroller. To share a smile. Buying two tickets to the Sunday movie. To share popcorn, to share time, to share an experience. To share, to share, to share. The transaction of energy, giving and receiving parts of ourselves, creating the being that we are today, a patchwork of things that have been given to us.
The complexities that come with the function and intention of sharing, is where we might all differ. A conversation with a stranger at the dive bar over a vodka soda, might only be full of ambiguities. Choosing your words wisely, not saying too much, but saying enough. You tell them where you go to school, but not what apartment complex you live in. You tell them your favorite candy is rolos, but you don’t say it's because your dad used to buy them for you at the store when you were a little girl. But maybe you spare no detail. Where you came from, your first crush, mother’s maiden name.
To say too much is to overshare, left exposed, belly up, leaving little to imagination. To not say enough is to undershare, a two-dimensional state, neither hot nor cold; lukewarm. And as all things in life there's a balance; a lucrative spectrum that we dance atop of, sharing a lot or refusing to say. So what do we deem worthy to share? And who do we deem worthy to hear it? A stranger can hold my secrets, but to know my middle name is too personal.
I had been keeping something from my mother recently. Something that felt precious at the time, but made me so giddy my cheeks would flush. Nervous to share in fear of jinxing it, or maybe because I didn't know how to share. Overflowing with anxiety, brimming at the top, a heartbeat that was nothing but a flutter. I finally couldn’t take it anymore, ripping at the seams until it tore out of me completely. To share is to be relieved. And in return she shared her own sentiments, and her own time, chatting like two gossiping girls. Oversharing as spilling my guts, feasting on facts, cleaning our teeth with extra information. Picking up my words, rolling them around, throwing them back out to spiral into the air to feast again. The overindulgence of details.
I always wanted her to know, but for a while, I liked that it was just mine. Even before I share these posts, I sit with them, knowing that before long it becomes everyone else’s. But just for a moment, it is all for me. Privacy becomes the act of sharing with only oneself. And understanding this, we can consider that within everyone exists a secret world in which they have all to themselves. An ecosystem of secrets. Hidden thoughts, hushed desires. A sanctuary of all that makes them, them. And we should relish in our secret worlds, the one place we can be, with no pollution from the outside.
Sometimes the choice is not ours to leave our private nature. Share with the class, share your thoughts. An expected act with no serious implications. Or what if we shared something special with someone who now resides in the past. They carry on with something of you, something you can’t ever get back.
So still it begs the question, why do we share?
Just as fast as we can create our secrets, we are sharing ourselves online. The food we eat, the places we are, the friends we have, the embarrassing stories we experienced, our insights, our pets, our dreams. All on a platter, an all-you-can-eat-buffet of what swims in our mind. Things better left unsaid, out in the open, set out for anyone to take and to interpret. Do you think we can ever share all of ourselves? The boundaries become blurred when we see everything of someone, the mystery of just being, dims darker each day. Stoicism is a thing of the past.
But is sharing not intimate? Something that in one breath, can seem so credulous and exposing can be so quiet, and cherished; sharing as the currency of love. To tell someone every thought you have during the day because that is who you want to share yourself with. To tell someone all that you feel and all that you hope for because that is who you want to share your time with. You are coming home to them when you share; a transaction of care.
Yet we share so much of ourselves with very little in return. In the simplest of terms, we find a place to set things down, let someone share the weight. Despite the context you decide to share, it is a vulnerable act. But sharing is what makes us human. Share your tears, share jokes. To share is to care and to love, to give and to receive.
thank you for letting me share with you
natalie <3
