Want to Hear Something Personal?

I'll trade you.

When I was in my twenties and trying to find my way, bloggers — then a newfangled thing — offered me a window into other people’s lives. They gave me glimpses of different jobs, relationships, and family structures, in towns and cities across the globe. (Along with a fair amount of recipes.) Unlike the edited world of television or the filtered one on social media, they felt like friends — voices traveling through my screen and casually affirming my existence, helping me feel less alone.

I valued it so much that I wanted to do the same.

My first foray was a food blog with grainy photos of brownies, which lasted all of a month. Over a decade and at least as many projects later, I’m still at it, still amazed that whether I’m reading or writing, there is a person on the other side of the screen. For all its faults, the internet is a magical thing.

Occasionally, I’ll be out somewhere and a stranger will see me and come say hello. (This invariably happens when I duck out for three minutes to run an errand, hair askew, naked eyes squinting like a mole in the sunlight.) I love when I first meet someone and discover that a cord of familiarity already exists between us. It’s like we can jump past the awkward first-date-type conversation and land right in the good stuff.

Sometimes, they’ll wrap up a story with an apology for oversharing, as though they didn’t just give me a wonderful gift.

To my mind, sharing is currency. In an ideal scenario, we’d all trade confessions like Halloween candy. I share something, you share something, and everyone leaves feeling fuller, but emotionally lighter, with an expanded array of treasures.

For better or worse, we exist within a sharing culture. If you engage with social media, internet forums, even corporate team-building exercises, you’ll be expected to disclose various aspects of your life. Gone are the days when our updates into other people’s lives came from alumni class notes and mailed holiday cards. Now, no matter our vocation, we moonlight as our own director, producer, and publicist. (Not to mention the audience to everyone else’s life.)

On any given week, my social feeds yield someone speaking about something deeply personal — mental health, infertility and miscarriage, illness, grief, identity, personal trauma. Even if you aren’t comfortable publicly discussing such things, you’ve likely benefitted from someone else’s openness. Slowly, we are discovering that the secrets we may have shamefully locked away are not ours alone.

In a friendly capacity — outside of the office or the earshot of judgmental relatives — I don’t believe there is such a thing as an overshare. I mean, yes, there are obviously limits. You don’t want to arrive at a first date and immediately broadcast your hemorrhoids. (Someone once did this! To me!) But if others didn’t let us in, how would we know that they have struggles, too? How would we know that we’re not alone?

Blessed are the sharers, who pave the way for deeper connection. Sometimes even with ourselves.

I say all this knowing full well there is plenty I do not share.

When it comes to personal writing, I have a couple hard rules. The first is to stick to material I’ve already emotionally processed, because it takes some distance to see a subject clearly. The second is to share only the stories that are mine to tell. Relationship tales, family drama, professional gossip… none of that is on the table. If a long time has passed, I have the other person’s permission, or if the characters are guaranteed anonymity, something may be fair game.

Weighing what to include can feel like a tightrope walk where no matter how much experience I rack up, my vigilance never wanes. A piece of writing needs to be vulnerable enough to be helpful, but not so egregious that someone feels burdened or uncomfortable. It’s like a heart-to-heart, but one of the hearts is invisible, and you have to imagine its reactions as you go along. For me, it’s often trailed by the dreaded vulnerability hangover, the emotional cousin of that anxious voice that whispers in the night, certain you said something wrong.

On paper, extreme openness is often regarded as a valued form of art. The best memoirs let you in, offering an interior tour of the author’s thoughts and feelings as their personal history unfolds. I have never read a memoir and thought, “I can’t believe they shared that!” How brave, maybe. How bold. How honest. Or even, I can’t believe that happened. But never judgment for sharing.

While curated vulnerability is celebrated, the unedited version is subject to another lens. We’ve all watched a celebrity (or anyone, for that matter) implode onscreen, monologuing into the camera or spilling their guts in a caption. This can be touted as courageous or tragic. But any way you slice it, I’d argue that our reactions have way more to do with our own shame than with theirs.

In many cases, others are not as judgmental as we fear. They are also more willing to open up — and to listen — than we might expect.

A friend recently told me about an experiment in which people were asked to broach deep topics with strangers, like “When is the last time you cried in front of another person?” The participants expected to feel awkward bearing their souls to randos, but in practice, felt happier and more connected than they’d imagined.

It reminded me of one memorable NYTimes Modern Love essay, in which the author decides to try dating with a “no small talk” policy. Even if you know nothing about the other person, he posits, you can foster deeper exchanges by changing how you frame your questions. (For example, instead of asking what someone’s job is, you might ask, “What work are you passionate about?”) His approach led to one positive experience after another. “All it takes is a willingness to dive into conversations that may make us uncomfortable or that many believe to be inappropriate for first encounters.”

Whatever size the talk, I’m always excited to hear it. You know that Alice Roosevelt quote, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, come sit next to me”? Well, my version goes, “If you have something personal to share, come sit next to me.” Don’t worry that it might be too deep or weird or sad. I maintain that we’re all just human-shaped wells of deep weirdness, cycling through every fear and feeling in the book.

Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. And probably needs to share.

Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Featuring the Moon Void Tarot Deck by Stefanie Caponi

A tarot deck consists of 78 cards, divided into 22 major and 56 minor arcana. “Arcana” means “secrets” or “mysteries,” which is a lovely way to frame it — 78 secrets waiting to be shared, mysteries waiting to be solved. Each card represents a universal truth, some shared aspect of the human experience.

This is the heart of the Justice card: alchemizing mysteries into truths.

It sounds heady, but we do this every day, often without even noticing. There are the moments when you realize, for better or worse, that the experts you thought had the answers are actually just winging it. Or the times when those big life experiences you placed so much weight on don’t actually come with their own red carpets. Or the occasions when we reach certain benchmarks, but discover we’re still the same people, with all the same questions and concerns.

Justice aims to uncover the truth. Not in a “burden of proof” sense, but by always asking “what resonates in my core?”

In many traditional decks, Justice takes a human form. Cloaked in an elaborate robe, one hand holds a sword while the other holds the scales of justice. The sword here is less weapon, more tool — a spiritual X-Acto knife of sorts — to cut away all the noise and distractions and societal trappings, until you’re left with only the truth. Meanwhile, the scales are a tool to help us examine how we assign weight.

I particularly love the image in this deck, where the scales are shown balancing head and heart. Doesn’t everything boil down to this?

How often have you found yourself weighing the messages of the external world (society, your family, pop culture, etc.) vs. what you yourself know to be true? Or those moments when a friend or teacher or coach or counselor offers you feedback, and it either sets you free…or feels completely off the mark.

Others may purport to have the answers, but only you can know for sure. Justice doesn’t stop at recognizing the truth — it wants you to trust it.

If I think back on the major crossroads of my life thus far, it has often felt like my heart was always on one side of that scale, and everything else must be weighed against it. It isn’t always a foolproof way to live — certainly not the most glorious, lucrative, nor popular with others. But consulting my heart has served me well, and I plan to continue doing it.

Justice also speaks to the grey areas, how nearly everything is open to interpretation. Your truth won’t look the same as anyone else’s. Your options won’t carry the same weight. Despite what we’ve been sold, there is no standard. You alone decide what matters.

We are often concerned with making the “right” choices. Not from a moral stance (which is certainly worth considering), but from a place that assumes that a correct path exists. If only it were so simple. If only life looked more like Jeopardy, and we were rewarded with a chime or a buzzer to let us know when we’re on our way. You’ll have to keep going, keep weighing, keep discerning, even when the answers aren’t simple.

In a way, that’s pretty great. How liberating to know that each day, we get to don the proverbial robes of Justice. We have the power to look beyond all that cultural noise and decide what we let in.

In the days ahead, let Justice be part of the conversation. Imagine it looks you square in the eye and asks, “What do you value most in life?” If you are faced with a decision — or that nagging feeling that something isn’t quite right — try to envision how it plays out on Justice’s scale. There are no right or wrong answers. There is only your truth.

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