Our Little Black Book

Sonder (n). The realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own

Their lives populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries, and inherent craziness. Their epic stories continuing invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, or as a lit window at dusk.

As Rochelle and I gear up for our third annual sisters adventure, I’m reminded of why every year we consciously decide to live out of our backpacks, hand wash our underwear in hostel sinks, hop on rickety overnight buses country-to-country, sleep in a room of 20 (where let’s be honest, there’s always one snorer), leave all our comforts behind us, tend to venture on our separate ways about halfway through the trip, and move from place to place almost as frequently as we shower.

We do it for the sense of adventure that accompanies travelling, the fresh air atop the mountains to be climbed, the daily ice creams and local snacks that we so actively go in search of, the photographs to be captured giving insight into our individual perspectives, the feeling of freedom as we wander aimlessly, the white noise of a bustling street in which our minds choose not to hone in on any one particular conversation, the push and pull of cultures colliding, the infrequent but treasured opportunity for us to reacquaint ourselves with one another and reenter each other’s lives, and most of all, the paths that we cross, even if only in the form of a passing smile.

So, sonder.

Four years ago, my sister started Our Little Black Book. In it, contains the secrets of every person that has since then entered her life, whether a friend, a lover, a soulmate, a friend of a friend, a fellow festival lover, a stranger at a coffee shop, or a fellow traveller that she’s met along the way. Yes, secrets. Here’s how it works. In it, you are free to express your secrets in any which way, in writing, in drawing, in poetry, in a single word. You are free to write in any language, any color, any style. You can sign your name or leave it anonymous. There’s no limit to the amount of times you write in this book, nor is there is a minimum. When handed the book, you have free range to read through as much of the book as you want before adding your own thoughts.

The one rule is: You can’t show her or talk about what’s in the book in front of her. She can’t read it before every blank (and I mean every blank, fillable spot) is full. Because here’s the thing, this book isn’t for her. It’s for you. She doesn’t want to know your secrets. She doesn’t need to know your secrets. What she wants is to offer you a means of expressing your thoughts and secrets in a way you may never have been able to before. Tucked away amongst the secrets of those who came before you. Treasured by those who have yet to sign the book. And kept a secret by anonymity and the understanding that this book won’t be read for years, at which time you may not even remember Our Little Black Book. And let me tell you, there are some heart-wrenching, sobering secrets in there.

We all live intricate lives, chockfull of our own worries, fears, secrets, and insecurities. Our worries, fears, secrets, and insecurities, while minute in the eyes of peers, feel overwhelming in our hearts. Our Little Black Book acknowledges the presence of these worries, fears, secrets, and insecurities in all of our lives. We, Rochelle included, don’t need to know what it is, just that it is. We don’t need to know one another’s worries, fears, secrets, and insecurities, just that they exist. Our knee-jerk reactions to someone’s supposedly harmless comment, our unusual silence around a lively dinner table, or our overwhelming desires to be alone in any given moment. These moments cannot and should never be blamed on introversion, on our characters, and especially not on PMS, because at the end of the day, we are such a small part of one another’s lives. As connected as my sister and I are, we don’t know everything about each other. We don’t know the root of every knee-jerk reaction, every “uncharacteristic” action, every unexpected desire. But we don’t have to. Just recognizing that in her heart and in her mind, lies her own set of worries, fears, secrets, and insecurities, is enough.

Those knee-jerk reactions, unusual silences, and desires to be alone can stem from these hidden worries, fears, secrets, and insecurities. The point is, we need to acknowledge the presence of worries, fears, secrets, and insecurities without needing to know what they are. We need to recognize that someone’s reaction towards you may not, at the end of the day, have anything to do with you but with the personal battles going on inside them. We need to realize that every passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as our own. Understanding this, we learn to respond, not react. We learn to be support systems for each other, not enemies. We become a bigger part in one another’s lives, beyond being the extra sipping coffee in the background, the blur of traffic passing on the highway, or the lit window at dusk.

Respond, not react. I admit, I am still struggling with this but it’s a work in progress. This piece is a blunt reminder of why we travel. Why we want to meet people out in the world. Why we leave our comfort zones behind. Why we adventure. We continue on our journeys into ourselves. We continue to connect ourselves with those living miles and miles away from us, geographically, politically, economically, and emotionally. We continue to grow into better versions of ourselves every day.

On these annual trips with my sister, I dedicate one full afternoon to reading through Our Little Black Book, rereading old secrets, taking in the new ones, and again adding my own. Our Little Black Book has touched so many lives, serving as an avenue for expression, as the first opportunity for some to articulate a secret they’ve kept so bottled up, as a means of connecting all our intricate lives. It holds secrets that have only ever been spoken in this book and it holds secrets that have since then been voiced because of the exhilaration this book gave the secret holder. It holds years of personal battles and sleepless nights. It holds the parts of us that make us human.

So take some time and write in Our Little Black Book. If you never get the chance to come across Our Little Black Book, then write down your secret and keep it somewhere safe. Write it down and throw it away (but actually recycle it). Write it down and bury it. Or write it down and send it out across the ocean in a bottle. Because there’s something so utterly freeing about writing down our secrets, about realizing that everyone else has secrets too.

Our Little Black Book is really something special. It encompasses all that the word sonder is. Our secrets while we keep so close to our hearts make us human. Our understanding and acceptance of one another’s secrets, whether known or not, make us better humans. Our lives, while all different and full of its own unique craziness, have one very important thing in common: We all have secrets. And those secrets make us human.