[ri-vel-uh-tawr-ee, -tohr-ee, rev-uh-luh-]


  1. of, relating to, or having the characteristics of revelation.
  2. showing or disclosing an emotion, belief, quality, or the like (usually followed by of): a poem revelatory of the author’s deep, personal sorrow.


“If you reveal your secrets to the wind, you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees.” Khalil Gibran


It’s never possible to predict with complete surety the result of introducing a new variable into a system. The scientific method attempts to solve for this by isolating components, observing interactions between elements, and carefully controlling for potential adulteration. Even still, it isn’t a perfect process and it still happens rather often that even with such planning and clear intent, outcomes occur that surprise everyone.

I think of myself as a candid person; open and forthcoming in all aspects of my life. I keep things to myself, certainly, but I also disclose a considerable number of very intimate details with regularity. Secrets do not agree with me, so I essentially have none. While no one person knows everything I haven’t kept anything entirely to myself.

Having identified the desire to make myself understood as one of the primary motivating impulses of my life,  I am willing – in the service of this inclination – to be laid bare to an extent most people find uncomfortable at least, and intolerable at worst. In a bit of a chicken-and-egg conundrum, I recognize my shamelessness but do not know if it is a function of my tendency toward TMI or the means by which such divulgence feels customary. It is, whatever the case, a matter of fact I am completely at ease with.

This presents a strong contrast to what much social convention says about communication. It is both polite and self-protective to curate the dossier of identity. On no account let the unflattering mundane truths be seen; if it is unavoidable, let these been seen only through the filter of bonded love and fortified context.

If instead I feel moved to reveal myself in all practical ways and to almost any interested audience, I do so to inform others about me, and to provide a framework wherein I can observe my own nature from a different perspective. Inherent to this method is the risk of misinterpretation; once these truths are out there, they take on a life of their own in the mind of anyone who encounters them. Moreover, it is a process that somewhat frequently provokes antipathy; after all, just because something is understandable doesn’t make it persuasive.

I still feel the benefits of an open approach to life far outweigh the disadvantages, and I have certainly been privy to both. I comfort myself, in times when I feel vaguely disappointed at the response I have incited, by reminding myself I am simply being who and how I am. That doing so distills certain traits people find objectionable or off-putting is inevitable; that this also serves to reveal something about them is merely a delightful lagniappe.