For the past couple months I’ve been working on a project that is almoooost done.
I had hoped to have it out in the world by now, but moving homes took up a lot more time than I expected. Initially, I began this project with someone who then disappeared—their absence added more unexpected length to the timeline. THEN I had an idea that takes the project to the next level. After grappling with the fact that the new idea MUST be included because it is important and not a whim, I extended my deadline once again. All this time, I haven’t told more than a handful of people. As much as I would like to talk about it, announce it and make it online official, I’m holding out until I’m really actually done.
I’ve tucked the project into myself, letting it grow in the safety of my being. Carrying it all day and all night feels at times like a weight, especially when I haven’t tended to it in a few days. It calls out to me, asking for attention. I bear the full responsibility of bringing this thing to the light of day.
That is the value of secrets.
When a project is rendered invisible to the outside world, the intimacy fostered between the creator and creation becomes a sacred bond.
Living in the internet’s public forum makes cocooning with your secret feel impossible. Seeing success in the lives of our virtual companions infects us with a compulsive need to share. In my early twenties, I remember a distinct feeling of anguish because I had no work to share on social media. It was a desire for tangible progress, something that I could post and say okay this is me! If we post about it, it must mean we are no longer dabbling: our project (and our entire being?) is validated through the gaze of others.
But just as wine starts to decay when the cork is pulled from the bottle, sharing too soon lessens the urgency to bring the project to full fruition. Like a balloon with a single pinprick, the air starts to seep out. First the leak is undetectable, but pretty soon your bouncy orb has deflated completely. You’re left holding a stretchy limp piece of latex, bearing no resemblance to your once full and lively dream.
The hits of dopamine we receive when sharing our work in progress can replace the hard earned feelings of satisfaction when we reach a long term goal. We create a little post or have a conversation about our theoretical idea and walk away with a confidence boost that zaps our need to do actual work. Our brain is fooled into believing the mission has been accomplished, when in reality we may not have even begun. I used to write off my inability to complete tasks as a symptom of being an Aries, but we’re all susceptible to this affliction.
Holding a project in the secret zone strips away attention based glamour. Any false sense of importance sneaks out the back door, unsustained by external forces. Working behind the curtain and out of the spotlight’s glow, the true nature of your project is revealed. Without the fanfare, do you still feel the magnetic pull of whatever you set out to accomplish?
I took a copy of Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke down to the beach this weekend.
As I stretched out in the sun, I felt the weightlessness of doing absolutely nothing. Taking breaks doesn’t come naturally to me but for the first time in a long time I actually enjoyed the pause. When I flipped the book open I wasn’t expecting the very first letter to hit like never before.
Here’s the part that resonated with my secret-loving heart:
“You are looking outside, and that is what you should most avoid right now. No one can advise or help you - no one. There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple "I must", then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse….A work of art is good if it has arisen out of necessity. That is the only way one can judge it. So, dear Sir, I can't give you any advice but this: to go into yourself and see how deep the place is from which your life flows; at its source you will find the answer to, the question of whether you must create. Accept that answer, just as it is given to you, without trying to interpret it. Perhaps you will discover that you are called to be an artist. Then take that destiny upon yourself, and bear it, its burden and its greatness, without ever asking what reward might come from outside. For the creator must be a world for himself and must find everything in himself and in Nature, to whom his whole life is devoted.”
Must I? Deceptively simple, it can be applied to any rigorous discipline or half baked project. It takes strength to walk away from something that does not bring a resounding yes, because the mind has to adjust any sense of self-worth it may have attached to the project.
Over the years a number of my projects have excused themselves during the limbo period of secret gestation. Once I let go of the feelings of shame that I assumed I was supposed to have, this experimental stage became more enjoyable. I practice releasing attachment to outcome and instead allow a project to evolve at its own pace. In this period I am the vessel and I relish that role when I can assume it.
Once a project is in full swing, I’ll tell a couple of trusted confidants. Divulging a secret at that stage feels exciting and rare, like talking about a crush. If I tell people I respect, it gives me a feeling of accountability. They know, I know they know. I can’t slink out and abandon the promising project without explaining myself to those respectable figures in my life.
Mastering the art of secrets can only happen when you stay grounded in the present. Thinking three steps ahead is like overwatering a seedling. It will only grow when light is given and its roots have room to expand.
Luckily, it is always possible to begin practicing the art of secrecy. Even if you’ve revealed your work in progress many times over. You may draw the curtain at any time, pull the project into the folds of your cloak and welcome it into the sacred realm of invisibility. Don’t feel the need to announce it publicly until you’re ready to present the full expression. Practice answering questions with an ambiguous charm. Carry yourself with the confidence of knowing you don’t owe people answers, your only debts are to the project. Those of time, space and focused energy.
Cheers to you and your secret projects, may the divine always guide their way.
Talk soon,
James
The Art of Secrecy
"If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?" So much of what we do feels like it must be defined by other people so that we can then be given the permission to consider it meaningful or beautiful or important ,the tree does not make a sound unless someone says that it does, unless it’s resonance is justified and validated .our gaze remains perennially imbued with the “other” ,whomever that is for each of us .We do not naturally assume that it makes a sound ,regardless of the presence of spectators .Thank you for the stunning words.