Privacy

I typically choose not to write these personal essays, here on Vocal. Those stories based purely in this world, and not the ones I have built in my creations of fiction.

To write my truth, which would involve another, how could I? They are apart my my story, this is true, but they are their own story too. I’m certain they’d give permission to be written about, but I don’t want to have to ask, for my own privacy.

And I suppose that actually is something given to me by my father figure: privacy.

The belief forged within me, by them, is one of a privat life. Everyone is entitled to their privacy, something I firmly believe.

-To disconnect from work, once done for the day or the week. Home-life is home-life, there is no room for work to distract as they enjoy their family.

-To be uncontactable, no need for pagers or text-snubbing, they freely give me their undivided attention—it’s our time.

-Home is sanctuary. Those walls are just for family and invited guests. We were in a safe place to ask whatever questions ladened our minds and explore critical thoughts.

-Even down to the visceral reaction we get when countries, like in Canada, force those to share, their identity on lottery wins. I know this one is far fetched to ever happen, but it’s a belief around their right to privacy being overridden by nosey Nellies, claiming transparency, while also demanding winners donate and openly disclose the details of their lives and charitable givings. (I digress)

There are so many memories I get to cherish, where I got to enjoy my time with my family. But the greatest were private ones. Those ones where no one knows who your father figure is, where you get to be just another normal family.

And now, as an adult, thanks to one aspect of who I have been shaped to be, I am often commended by my complete ability to disconnect from work when out living my personal life.

I don’t lay awake at night, worrying about the explosive problems of work, which may have transpired and await me the next day.

I don’t stay late and give my time for free, like answer emails on the weekend or holidays.

(I vent about cruddy days, sure, but that is just enough to get the day off my shoulders to move on.)

My father figure. Their respect for privacy also inadvertently lead to the presence of a parent, which every child is entitled to. They were whole heartedly there for us.

I was and am fortunate and privileged in that fact. I wasn’t forced to learn a resilience until later in life, when my own developments made it easier to adjust and process at that later age. Not everyone is so lucky, I know.

This feels like a (not-so-humble) brag. But recognizing my privileges is important when I interact with others. I’ll respect the other person’s right privacy and I will try to listen to them with an awareness, as I know they may not have experienced the world as I have.

My privileged lens is always there, but it is a matter of knowing to step back and to view the whole picture, as best as I can. Stand up and change the angle that I approach from. Let their choices in private-life guid me to know how and where to approach what is shared with me by them.

My father figure gave my the gift of appreciated and respect for privacy. Everyone’s story is different, but they are all entitled to privacy in their own life.