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Cleaning
House (894) September
4th, 2010
I was twenty-five years old and stuck in a motel room deep in
the heart of
We were bored.
Money was short, which makes boredom even more pronounced.
So we scraped together our quarters, nickels and dimes and
ordered in an extra-large double-cheese mushroom, onion and
hamburger pizza—our favorite—or more accurately, the
conglomeration of our favorites. There
was nothing on TV; it was long before cable afforded its myriad of
meaninglessness.
The pizza arrived and we were munching away when I came up
with an idea. I
explained to them that I thought it would be fun for us to play a
game which I dubbed “Cleaning House.”
We would take turns and go around and share secrets we had
never told anyone else before, and the only rule was to share the
complete facts—unashamed and don’t hold anything back.
It was a bit awkward at first.
You know—stealing candy bars and stuff.
But as we got to the end of the pizza, our inhibitions
disappeared. The room
was a little chilly so we covered up under blankets, turned the
lights off so we didn’t have to eyeball each other, and began to
open up.
We shared our concerns; we shared our dreams.
We shared the origins of our sexual histories.
And then we began to share even deeper, darker secrets that
I’m certain we felt were the abomination of desolation—but ended
up really being just a bunch of goofball stuff that we all do.
There were moments when a revelation would shock one of us,
and then we would make fun of that surprised individual, calling him
a dork or a nerd. It
lasted about an hour-and-a-half, and when it was over we knew
ourselves a lot better, and knew each other a lot more, and it was
still okay. We were
still friends.
The amazing thing to me was that the fear that holds our
souls in bondage arrives very early in life, builds a little cottage
in the middle of our hearts, and refuses to leave until it’s
evicted. My fears
were exposed that night. It
was so simple—it was so pure.
It was so real.
I went to sleep after we were done and when I woke up the
next morning, part of me was no longer afraid.
Matter of fact, ever since then, the truth about myself has
never been nearly as intimidating.
Don’t get me wrong. I
still cover up and lie sometimes.
But now I really feel stupid about doing it.
For after all, it doesn’t make any sense.
Because cleaning house is the only way to find out that you
had more room than you thought.
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