Monday, February 9, 2009

Ramblings of an Ancient Courier

I dropped my car off today at the dealership to get it serviced, and got a ride home from a nice man named Carl. He instantly struck up a conversation with me about the weather, which transitioned into his former job at ARUP, which transitioned into his quitting a job at a printing company, which then further transitioned into a long discussion of his prostate cancer and the various types of radiation he had been through. In the course of a fifteen-minute car ride, I knew a fairly extensive medical history; some personal struggles, including the fact that he can't give up smoking even though he's on oxygen, his work history, a little bit about the rigors of high-dose radiation therapy on your prostate, though I personally lack one, and how nice his trailer is, you know, the one he has up behind Pineview.

In fifteen minutes, I knew an incredible amount of information, and he knew literally nothing about me besides the obvious (e.g. woman, Toyota-owner, blonde). I have a harder time opening up to people, I have this strange desire to keep everything personal about myself a huge secret. I like to think that I'm just more self-dependent, but rather I think that it's just some sort of personal failing on my part.

The Carls in the world tend to overshare, but no one wonders when they are hurting or need an extra hug. When he's around, they know what his issues are so they can avoid saying painful or uncomfortable things. Of course, he has the opposite extreme of my problem, he has no privacy or secrets, which at some times can be a good thing.

Sometimes I feel like there's a huge cavern of feelings and experiences that I am just trying to close up in order to pretend to live a 'normal' life. What am I hiding from?