September 11. Day 255. Wishing and hoping

 It's weird isn't it, the things we tell complete strangers?
Popular culture will have us believe that for some reason sitting on a bar stool or in the hairdresser's chair is something akin to being in a confessional. Sure the bar has the added "incentive" of the notion of in wine truth. But the hairdresser? The smell of bleach has weird impacts on my sinuses but has never acted as a truth serum. Perhaps it is just being forced to sit still for a bit with someone in close proximity who appears willing and able to listen. In any event, the greater the emotional distance the easier it is to spill the beans - at least that's what I think. Tonight at the Theatre Republic - a precinct of the Brisbane Festival - I entered the House of Common Hopes. Here visitors were offered pieces of card and invited to write a hope and thread it to a strong hanging from the roof.
 As is the way with these things, there were a variety of responses to this invitation. Some people were obviously playing it for laughs. Others had taken a more deeply considered approach. One caught my eye "I hope I can one day come out ... 💛"

That is so sad. It should not be a thing that anyone can feel they can write that and hang it on a card for strangers to read and yet not tell people that matter.
We like to think it's progressed beyond that and for many people it probably has. But many people isn't everybody which probably only makes it worse for those who don't feel in a position to be honest with others.
Whoever you are I hope you can too.