Shh! I’m hiding.
My mother sometimes tells the story of the day that she returned to her car to find a little old lady laying down in the back seat. The lady looked up at my mother and said “Shh! I’m hiding!”
As my mother helped the lady climb out of the car and walk down the block back to the nursing home, the lady explained with a twinkle in her eye. “I know I can’t really leave, but sometimes I like to hide for a little while.” They were met at the nursing home door, by a loving attendant who had just noticed the escape. The old lady hobbled on the arm of her attendant, listening to the mild scolding for running away again, and she sent a cheerful goodbye wave to my mom.
I feel a deep sympathy for that little old lady. Sometimes I too need to hide. It isn’t that my life is bad or that I’m oppressed, quite the contrary. I just need to hide a little bit, give myself some space, be alone for awhile. The hiding place may be a book, or my backyard, or my bedroom, or the bathroom, or the grocery store, or a blog entry, wherever the hiding place may be, when I come back I can be glad for my life again.