I was writing about this is my notebook. Two days later my fairy GodFather, Seth Godin, posted this piercing piece.

I like to hide, and… I’m pretty good at it.

I still remember my hiding spots on Delaware Drive, at Camp Ledgewood, at The Ranch and at almost every place I have worked.

I would hide close enough to hear what was going on, and stay away just far enough and long enough so that no one would find me.

Most times I had a book, or journal in hand. Reading and writing was is was is a great safe escape.

Sometimes it was just to get away and recharge. Sometimes it was for emotional and physical self-preservation.

Instead of going to recess in Elementary school, I volunteered in the Special Ed classes. I was hiding from the bullies, and helping someone else. Win-win, right?

Instead of going to lunch during my high school years, I had special permission to take extra classes during those time slots.

Instead of taking gym class during the regular school year, I took it during summer school.

Instead of playing the role I auditioned for, and got, in the musical. I dropped out and joined the crew instead.

Instead of taking opportunities in my career, I took the safer route.

I could go on and on.

Those moments have, for better and worse, made me who I am today.

So, still I try to disappear. I deactivate Facebook. I stop writing. (Well, I stop publishing my writing.)

The same childish behavior continues. I must say though, my reading has matured from Beverly Cleary to Brené Brown.

But, I have found a tribe, or you have found me, and hiding is no longer tolerated, even by my conscience.

For the first time I am realizing that the voices of my tribe are louder and more loving than the voices in my memories.

Over and over and over again the resounding message is now:

“Olly, olly, oxen free. Come out, Come out, where ever you are.”

I am close enough that I can hear it even when it is a gentle whisper. I am strong enough that I can handle it when it is said sternly and lovingly.

I’m peeking out from behind the walls I’ve built.

I’m scared. (No, I don’t know exactly what I am scared of.)

I need you. (No, I don’t know exactly what I need.)

But I do know that I am finally pressing in, and refusing to hide out.

With my tribe, I cry:

“Olly, olly, oxen free. Come out, Come out, where ever you are.”