A Secret Shared with three soon will no secret be. Have you ever heard that old saying? Here’s another: A secret shared with two may prove to be a help to you. There are many exceptions to both of those adages. The point is, if you have a problem, don’t keep the problem to yourself. A problem shared is a problem halved–or something like that. Then, to get down to the real point–do you believe some things are better not shared or not even whispered about? Do you think that some things are best left alone? There’s another old saying, Let sleeping dogs lie.
On this beautiful, still, quiet June morning, I didn’t mean to wax quite so philosophical and the reason I’m posing this hard question is twofold: have you noticed that some news stories sound an awfully lot like a child tattling on someone else? I find myself wondering what the purpose of the story is–is it to make someone look bad? Well, maybe the reporter should remember You can’t throw mud without getting some on yourself.
And, the second is–if something is really a burden to you and you feel it is taking over your thoughts and actions, talk to someone trusted. I emphasize that word trusted. Talk to someone who will keep the problem to herself and who will sympathize, not criticize. It is a tremendous relief to share troubles. Just make sure the person with whom you share has your best interests at heart.
I’ve always been one to keep things to myself, to worry and fret over it until it sort of ruined the day. When I was a child, if I had done something I thought I shouldn’t, or if someone had said or done anything hurtful to me, I didn’t want to tell anyone. I thought I must surely be to blame for other people’s opinions of me. But! I had a trusted friend–my mother. When I finally mustered up enough nerve to tell my worries to my mom, my relief was tremendous. She was wise, good, and trusted. I knew she loved me and she would put things in their proper perspective. I knew my problem was safe with her and she would know the answer.
Yesterday, I came across an old journal I had written in 1958. I mean, that’s really old, isn’t it? Maybe it’s an antique! As I read, I remembered the teenager I once was and how every small thing seemed so big. I had a crush on a handsome young man in school and I think I must have written every conversation we ever had. Alas! The warm feeling existed only on my side and that young man grew up, fell in love with someone else, and married her. As a matter of fact, so did I. But, at that time, so many years ago, I told only my diary about that early crush.
When I was planning the third Darcy and Flora cozy mystery, I knew it was about something that had been buried for decades in an old well. Life had gone along smoothly until it was discovered, then Darcy’s life turned upside down. The things she had thought were true were not. That discovery led to a whole lot of changes in her life. But, what could I title the book? My granddaughter Sara came up with the perfect name–Best Left Buried. Because, in the course of events, Darcy wondered that many times–wouldn’t it have been best if that package had remained in the well? What do you think?
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