A couple of years back, I invited my meditation group over for an evening of quiet contemplation. We were deep into the "Now," watching Eckhart Tolle on the TV and soaking in the stillness of the room.
Toward the end of the night, my long-term housemate, Martin, returned from his weekly Friday ritual at the pub. Martin is a wonderful character, funny at the best of times, but particularly "tiddly" after a few pints. He wandered into the lounge, still radiating the boisterous energy of the public house, and joined our circle of calm.
My friend Sushann, curious about our living arrangement, asked Martin how the two of us had originally met. The mundane truth was that we’d connected through a website called Roommates.com.
Martin, however, saw a golden opportunity. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye and the confidence of three beers, he looked at the group and deadpanned:
"We met through Grindr!"
For anyone familiar with the app, the joke was obvious—a renowned hookup site for gay men was the furthest thing from our "Roommates" reality. The room erupted in laughter, and we moved on, eventually drifting back into our meditative presence.
Or so I thought.
A few weeks later, Sushann pulled me aside, her expression heavy with solemnity and a touch of newfound understanding.
"Wow, Graeme," she said with all seriousness, "I didn’t realize you were gay."
It turned out she was the only person in the room who hadn’t caught the punchline. To her, Martin’s drunken "revelation" wasn't a joke; it was a profound piece of personal history. It was a classic "Myburgh" moment: while I was sitting there immersed in a world of spiritual presence and higher consciousness, Sushann was busy recalibrating my entire identity based on a Friday night prank.
