Hiding in shadows,
Slinking in my dark domain,
Yearning to be seen.

Have you ever written a haiku? It’s a poem with three lines. Line one has 5 syllables, line two has 7, and line three has 5.

It’s a simple formula that can yield powerful results. Mine is above. Will you share your perspective on Invisible Lives with a haiku? For more help with writing your haiku, check out eHow.

I love the concept of Jacquie Hale’s book, Serenity Is an Inside Job. Part inspiration, part inner journey, part celebration, and part simplicity, Serenity Is an Inside Job is a 9–week, self-paced course in how to relieve stress and reclaim your life. It requires only a few minutes a day and will provide lasting value as you engage in developing new habits and new ways of seeing yourself.

The process is simple. On a weekly basis, you will read an inspiring message about a concept that relates to leading a more fulfilling life. These concepts include:

• Finding stillness and breath
• Cultivating your natural genius
• Transforming your limiting beliefs
• Identifying your heart’s desire
• Manifesting your dream
• Creating your five-year vision

On a daily basis, you will engage in brief activities that create mindfulness about whatever concept is on the agenda. Then, for just 5–10 minutes, you will write a response to a powerful question that will help you deepen your learning.

In fewer than 20 minutes a day, you can relieve stress and reclaim your life. Work the process and it will work for you.

Jacquie is a life coach, writer, blogger, web designer and a dear friend. Learn more about Jacquie through her blog or coaching web site. Her book is available in a print version or electronic download.

Some people’s lives are like a suitcase—
Neatly packed
With private articles
Carefully stashed.

I’m not saying that is wrong—
As long as it isn’t
Packed too tightly
Or a person doesn’t lose the key.

—Peggi Lisenbee

[One of my long-time friends, Ruthie, shared this poem with me in 1984. It spoke to me then, and it speaks to me now.]

He looked straight into my eyes with a penetrating, all-knowing look and asserted convincingly, “I can tell if someone is gay.”

It was October 1983. I was 18–years old and in my second week of college. My new friends, Dave and Vince, invited me to have pizza with them just thirty minutes earlier. I jumped at the chance to get to know these two guys – both of whom I had met a week before when I was asked to perform in another friend’s senior music recital of opera scenes. Dave was the conductor, Vince was the lead tenor, and I played the baritone role in a scene from Mozart’s opera Cosi fan tutte (which, ironically, is a romantic comedy that explores deception and betrayal).

We had just finished our second rehearsal when the three of us headed for pizza around 7 pm. During the 20–minute drive to the best pizza place in the area, Vince and Dave started talking about the Wizard of Oz. I love the Wizard of Oz, but I had trouble comprehending their conversation. For example, I remember Dave asking Vince, “Are you a friend of Dorothy?” and Vince replying, “Of course.”

What’s a friend of Dorothy? I silently pondered. Not wanting to appear stupid or not “with it,” I set aside my curiosity and discomfort, and joined in their laughter.

When we arrived at the pizza place and got settled into a booth, Dave asked, “Paul, do you know what we were talking about in the car?”

With that question, it was clear that my attempt to be “one of the boys” didn’t work. Yep. I had been caught, so I admitted, “Well, to be honest, I knew you were talking about the Wizard of Oz and stuff, but I didn’t really understand what you guys were really talking about.”

The waitress interrupted our conversation to take our order. I welcomed the distraction because I was unsure where this conversation was heading.

As soon as the waitress walked away, Dave continued with a brief, but shocking explanation, “Vince and I are gay.” I was mystified. How did we go from The Wizard of Oz to gay?

“The conversation we had in the car,” Dave continued, “was our way of coming out to each other. Saying ‘I’m a friend of Dorothy’ is a way of saying ‘I’m gay.’”

Vince chimed in, “We didn’t mean to leave you out of anything, but on the drive over here Dave and I realized that each of us is gay. We got caught up in coming out to each other.”

There I sat, for the first time in my life, in front of two gay men, gaining a new perspective on the Wizard of Oz. My emotions were like the twister that transported Dorothy from Kansas to Munchkinland. There was a surprising calmness in the center of my emotional storm that was punctuated by the emotional debris swirling around me, cluttered with years of repression, secrecy, and hiding.

I was honored that they trusted me with this information and, more importantly, I had this sudden sense of belonging, which literally scared the hell out of me. This was actually a big moment in my life. The truth was that I was terrified to sit there, but I stayed anyways. God, I thought, what if they think I’m gay?

Vince thanked me for not getting up and scurrying to another table. I acknowledged his appreciation by saying, “I wouldn’t run away like that. I’m pretty open-minded.”

Then came the turning point in the conversation. Dave leaned into the table, looked me squarely in the eyes, and said definitively, “I can tell if someone is gay.”

“Aahhhhh!” I screamed silently. Now I really wanted to run away. But instead, without any hesitation, I muscled my way into the land of courage and blurted out a resounding, “Oh.” That’s it. That’s all I said. Just “Oh.” I did not care to know what he thought of me and I ensured that we did not go down that path.

I looked back into Dave’s eyes, doing my best not to reveal any secrets. Dave continued to stare at me, knowingly, for what felt like an eternity. Neither of us said anything while Vince sat on the sideline observing the whole thing.

Thankfully, the pizza arrived. Dave sat back in his chair, relaxing his intense focus on me. In between pizza bites, I asked my two new “friends of Dorothy” about their lives and what it’s like to be gay. We talked for a while longer and then drove back to campus where we parted company until our next rehearsal.

Reflecting on that night, I stood at the threshold of something huge, scary, and inevitable. For the first time, I realized that I would need to face my own betrayal and deception. That night marked the beginning of a new life for me. It was time for me to come out. [To be continued…]

You don’t have to be gay to relate to “coming out” or feeling threatened by others who might suspect your secret. Consider posting in the Comments here or in your private journal, your answers to the following questions:

· When was a time that you betrayed your own integrity by engaging in deception? What happened? What would you do differently now?

· How do you betray your integrity now? What does it get you? What does it cost you?

In a previous post, I wrote about a situation with my friend, Dee, who asked me the million-dollar question, “Are you invisible right now?” I thought it would be interesting to apply The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom to that situation. Here is the result:

Agreement One – Be impeccable with your word. When Dee asked me, “Are you invisible right now?” my first impulse was to run away from the question and simply deny it – a habituated, shame-oriented response to conflict. Yet, I was able to access the internal resources to speak the truth, to be in a place of integrity, and to answer her question honestly.

Agreement Two – Don’t take anything personally. Her question created a conflict for me, but I saw past the immediate threat and, instead, recognized it as an opportunity to be visible. Even though I took her question personally at first, reframing the situation as an opportunity was a significant shift, which de-personalized it. It brought us both right into the moment and created an honest, authentic connection.

Agreement Three – Don’t make assumptions. When Dee asked me the question, my first reaction was to assume that she could not handle the truth. Fortunately, I didn’t dwell on that assumption. Instead, I gave her the benefit of the doubt that she could handle the answer. While this too is an assumption, it is based on seeing Dee in a positive light rather than perceiving some deficiency within her. By being authentic with Dee, I was letting her know that I trust her and honor her ability to take care of herself.

Agreement Four – Always do your best. I did my best. I know this because my body relaxed and our conversation progressed into much deeper territory than before.

Was there more that I could have done? Absolutely. Was I truly impeccable with my word? Mostly, but I could have been more transparent about the conflict that arose within me as a result of her question. Did I take anything personally? I sure did, but I was able to de-personalize it enough to see the opportunity inherent in the threat. Did I make assumptions? Well, yes, but I quickly overcame the most powerful of them.

A dear friend (I’ll call her Dee) and I agreed to talk by phone this past Saturday morning. From the moment we met nine months ago in a workshop on coaching, we have consistently had intensely personal conversations. But, this day, I was in a funk so I was planning on just giving her a rundown of my Did-Do list from the past two months (since the time we last talked) and hearing what she’s been up to.

I started the conversation by talking about InvisibleLives.com and my recent journey of bringing this blog on line. When it was clear it was time to transition to the next topic, Dee said in her sweetest voice, “I have a question that I hope will be okay to ask you.”

“Of course,” I replied, assuming that she was going to ask me about some aspect of my journey to blogdom.

She courageously and wisely went for the million-dollar question, “Are you invisible right now?”

Not expecting THAT question, I did a silent Homer Simpson “Doh!.” My heart skipped a beat (maybe two), my spine stiffened, and my chest froze.  I momentarily panicked, wondering What do I do now? Do I play it off? Do I confess? Ugh. Here I am talking about being more visible in my life, and I’m playing the invisibility card again. Damn it. I’ve been caught.

I paused for a moment, found my courage, set aside my internal conflict, and made my confession, “Yes. I’m invisible right now.”

Eureka! In that moment, my chest began to melt and my spine began to relax. The uneasiness that had been present in our conversation began to dissipate. The shackles of invisibility and shame began to lift.

Our conversation continued its mystical transformation as Dee held a safe space for me to be real with her and I gave myself permission to be real. We never got back to either of our Did-Do lists. Instead, we talked about our relationship and we savored the intimacy of our conversation for the remainder of our time on the phone.

Dee’s courageous question and my willingness to respond honestly transformed our conversation.

Here are some questions for you to ponder, write about in a journal, or post as a Comment:

• Under what circumstances do you hide your true self?
• What are the signals that you are hiding?
• What does it take for you to come out from behind the veil of invisibility?
• What might happen if you were to ask yourself throughout the day, “Am I being invisible right now?”

My friend, colleague, web designer, and fellow blogger, Brian (check out his personal development blog, DevYou), shared a wonderful quote with me recently that relates directly to the theme of this site. Brian introduced the quote with these words: It was said by John Barlow about Spalding Gray during the period of grieving immediately following Spalding’s suicide:

“Among the beliefs that he and I shared was a conviction that making public the intimately personal is a revolutionary act in an atomized society where many feel compelled to play so close to the chest that they can’t read their own cards. Being emotionally naked before strangers extends to them a permission for self-revelation they badly need if they are to loosen the shackles of their own quiet desperations. It is a blow against the pursuit of loneliness.”

Thank you, Brian.

It was a mid-summer Saturday morning and I was just beginning a new episode of my favorite cartoon, Scooby Doo, when the phone rang. I was the only one inside the house at the moment, so I pulled myself away from Scooby’s latest ghost-hunting adventure to answer it. Even at eight years old, answering the phone still made me nervous, but it was masked by the excitement of discovering who’s on the other end.

“Hello?” I asked in my politest voice.

“Uh…may I speak to Father Bob?” the middle-aged female voice tentatively asked.

Father Bob? Maybe she said may I speak to your father, Bob and I simply misunderstood her emphasis. Yeah, that’s it – I misunderstood her; she meant my father, Bob…not Father Bob.

Returning my focus to the caller and being mindful of my mother’s rules about politeness, I said, “Hold on, please.”

I placed the handset on the kitchen table and walked about six steps to the front door. As I opened it, I cupped my right hand around my mouth and yelled, “Daaa-aaad! Phooo-ooone!”

About thirty seconds later I could hear my father carefully wiping his wet shoes on the mat outside the front door. He came through the door and reached for the phone. In the meantime, I had repositioned myself in front of the television in the adjacent room.

“Hello?” he politely queried. After pausing long enough to hear the caller identify herself, he continued, “Oh, uh…that’s just a kid from the neighborhood.” His reply was matter-of-fact, yet he sounded nervous.

That’s odd¸ I thought. What neighbor kid is he talking about?

Again, after pausing briefly, he added, “Oh. He just likes to call me ‘dad.’”

I tuned out whatever he said after that. I was too shocked to hear anything but my internal voice screaming, WHAT?!? I’m just a neighbor kid? I like to call him dad? What is he talking about? Why is he lying to this woman?

I jumped up and ran down the hallway to my bedroom – my sanctuary for escaping difficult moments like these. I needed the comfort of my bed to appease the confusion and rage that bubbled up. I slammed my door closed and flew onto my bed landing face down on my pillow. I lay there and cried.

A few minutes later, having finished his phone call, the thin walls of our small Las Vegas home shook as my father opened and closed the front door. I lay there for another fifteen minutes, fighting the tears, but with an increasing determination to take action. I began to plot a strategy to confront my father about his lies to the stranger on the phone – to uncover the truth about calling me the neighbor kid. My father was not keen on being questioned, though, so my evolving courage was tempered with uncertainty about proceeding.

Finally, I wiped my eyes dry, and gathered enough courage to make the agonizing journey down the hallway, through the front door, and across the length of the front yard, stopping where my father was casually watering the lawn with the garden hose. I did not look into his eyes at any time, carefully hiding my pain from him and not wanting to notice whatever pain he might be experiencing. He did not look into my eyes either. I simply stood there, next to him, standing no taller than his belly button and saying nothing, just watching him spray the lawn with water.

Following the brief, but interminable silence, accompanied only by the sounds of spraying water and my beating heart, I spit out my question, “Who was that woman?”

“That was my sister,” he said, offering no less and no more. I was aware that he had many siblings, maybe a dozen, most of them living in his home state, Michigan, and having only minimal contact with him, except through an occasional letter.

Setting aside my fear that he would become angry at me for asking him the obvious question, I swallowed hard and asked, “Why did you tell her I am just a neighbor kid?”

“Paul, you’re not old enough to understand. When you’re older, I’ll explain it to you,” he said abruptly.

“When will that be?” I asked with my I-want-to-know-now impatience.

“I told you; when you’re old enough,” he replied, growing increasingly impatient with my curiosity. “For now” he continued, “all you need to know is that my family is not supposed to call me. But, if someone does call again and you don’t know who’s on the phone, just come get me or take a message. Oh, and never call me Dad if you don’t know who the caller is.”

I was stunned. I felt like Scooby Doo or his human pal Freddie, just having seen a ghost. I stood there stiffly for a moment, unsure of what to do next. As I felt my heart sink, I decided to give up my quest. I silently walked back to the house, defeated, but wondering about my father’s secret. Why wouldn’t he tell his sister that his son answered the phone? Is he embarrassed? Is he ashamed of me? What’s going on here?

As I entered the house, I had an eerie sense of skeletons in the closet and ghosts in the attic. My uneasiness deepened as I began to realize that I might somehow be the skeleton in the closet. Is that possible? Why else would he not tell his sister, my aunt, that his son answered the phone?

Having no recourse but to stifle my curiosity for now, I mindlessly returned to watch the final moments of Scooby Doo as he and his friends brought their latest ghost-chasing mystery to a successful conclusion. Maybe, someday, I will bring today’s mystery to a successful conclusion.

In reflecting on this story, what family dynamics squashed your childhood curiosity? What skeletons in the closet related to your feeling invisible? How did you handle those times when you were shut down or your interests were dismissed?

I’m curious to know about YOU, so I invite you to post your reactions as a Comment or, if you prefer privacy, take a few notes in a private journal.