I'm not about to talk about what's romantic in my life - I figure

“I’m not about to talk about what’s romantic in my life—I figure if you talk about it once, then that’s an open invitation for everyone to dig into your personal life even further.” Thus spoke James Van Der Beek, and his words reveal a truth as ancient as it is modern: the sacred must be guarded, lest it be consumed by the curiosity of the crowd. For the things of the heart, tender and fragile, lose their sanctity when exposed too freely to the eyes of those who do not cherish them.

The ancients understood this well. Lovers often met in secret gardens, beneath the cover of night, away from the gaze of neighbors and kings. Why? Because love thrives in intimacy, but falters under scrutiny. The poet Sappho wrote not for the mob, but for the beloved, knowing that the most sacred words lose their power when paraded for all. To declare the romantic details of one’s life in public is to hand them over to those who would dissect, gossip, and judge, rather than honor. Van Der Beek’s caution echoes this timeless wisdom: protect what is holy, for once unveiled, it cannot be clothed again.

The invitation he warns of is more than social curiosity—it is the human hunger for spectacle. When one reveals a glimpse of love or intimacy, the crowd demands more, as though the private life of another were a feast laid out for their consumption. History itself provides examples of this hunger. Consider Cleopatra and Antony: their love, exposed to the public eye, became not simply a union of two souls but a scandal used by Rome to justify war. What might have been remembered as passion was distorted into propaganda. Their personal life became weapon, no longer belonging to themselves.

To guard the heart, then, is not cowardice but strength. For the deepest treasures are not those displayed in markets but those hidden in temples. Love is such a treasure. It does not need the applause of the crowd to be real, nor the judgment of strangers to be justified. Like fire, it burns brightest when sheltered from the wind. To speak too openly of it is to risk extinguishing it altogether.

Yet this wisdom applies not only to romance but to all intimate matters of the soul. Every person carries truths that cannot be cast carelessly into the public square. The Stoics taught restraint, urging men to guard their thoughts and affections from the careless judgment of others. For the world is not gentle, and what you reveal may be twisted beyond recognition. Silence, therefore, becomes not emptiness but protection, a wall that shields what is most sacred within.

The lesson is clear: resist the temptation to make your private joys into public entertainment. In an age that hungers for constant revelation, choose instead the path of mystery. Let the world see your work, your deeds, your strength—but keep your loves, your griefs, and your secret treasures for those who have earned the right to share them. For what is truly romantic belongs not to the multitude but to the two hearts who hold it.

Practical action follows: speak less of what is most sacred in your life, and cherish it more. Guard your relationships as one guards a flame in the wind. If asked, smile, but know that silence can itself be an answer. Remember that not everything must be shared to be real. Indeed, what is guarded often grows stronger, for it is free from the erosion of gossip and spectacle.

So, children of tomorrow, remember James Van Der Beek’s wisdom: once you reveal the sacred, the crowd will demand more, and your treasure will no longer be your own. Keep what is holy within the circle of trust, and let your love be strengthened not by the gaze of strangers, but by the quiet power of intimacy. In this way, your personal life will remain yours, unbroken, undefiled, and deeply true.