crypsis

 “No way! Really? Wow!” That’s often the reaction I get when I tell a passenger I used to be a university professor. It’s usually followed by questions about where or what I taught. Then maybe another exclamation of surprise and a sort of settled satisfaction: “I never had an Uber driver who did that before. That’s cool.” 

Perhaps they are feeling something like the enjoyable surprise that I experienced when I learned that Jaidyn wants to be a classical composer or that Mav, a young nurse, is using nursing as a bridge to her real lifelong dream: to be a mortician or that Q, a selector at a warehouse, designs clothes. I could go on and on: this one, who puts jelly in the donuts at the Dunkin’ factory, is studying to be an underwater welder; that one, a security guard at MGM, paints landscapes. 

What’s weird is that when I first signed up, the main draw of this gig was that I could remain virtually anonymous. Nothing but my first name, no last name, no past, no story. Even the simple white business cards I had printed after some passengers asked if I did private rides display only my first name, the word “driver,” and my phone number. A friend observed that it was as if driving for Uber was a kind of camouflage by which I could remain hidden, like a chameleon who mimics its environment to avoid detection by a predator. She was right: I never expected to reveal anything about myself, and I didn’t want to be prey. 

“Crypsis” is the word for what she’s talking about. “Crypsis”—what a beautiful, resonant term. You may already have noted its similarity to the words “crypt” and “cryptic.” All come from the same Greek verb meaning “to hide.” That same verb also gave us “cryptography”—the art of creating or solving codes—and “encryption”—the process of converting information into a code, especially to prevent unauthorized access. 

Crypsis names the fraught realm of what must be preserved but never uncovered, what must be shared but only secretly. It brings us to the realm of tombs, shape-shifting and secrets, mimicry and mystery, camouflage and codes.

Few things make a better encryption device, a better tomb, than an Uber ride. To one another, my passenger and I are merely make, model, and license plate or pickup and drop off address. We are merely first names, nothing more. Why, then, safely hidden in this crypt of a car, do we so often choose to reveal ourselves? 

Maybe the answer is in the question. Maybe, I mean, it’s because the fact that we are strangers encrypts the secrets we share. We could tell each other anything and what of it? What are either of us going to do about it? Sure, we could voice judgment during the ride, which might feel bad, but finally, it’ll be over pretty quickly, and we don’t know enough about each other to do anything with what we’ve learned.

What a thrill then to remove the cryptic camouflage and reveal our true selves! To be seen and not eaten! And our exhilaration is mirrored on the other side by the recipient of our revelation. “No way! A professor? Really? Wow!” “No way! A composer? Really? Wow!” “No way? A rapper? A mortician? A stripper? A fashion designer? A drummer? No way! No way! No way! Really? Really? Wow!” That wow is the sound of our minds being blown. When reality challenges our expectations, and we can stretch our mental schemas to adapt, we grow and experience wonder.

This delicate and complex social dance requires the dynamic participation of both parties to sustain it. What begins with the courageous vulnerability of the revelation ends with the listener’s imaginative willingness to adjust expectations. Spanning these points and supporting them like the graceful cables of a suspension bridge is attention. 

We must be attentive to the myriad minute cues that indicate the potential for revealing ourselves without too much risk of harm, waiting for the moment. And then, when we do reveal ourselves, the other person must also notice that reality has just burst through their expectations. Because, after all, the only thing worse than revealing yourself and being eaten is revealing yourself and being disregarded. 

This is where empathy—that deeper, heartfelt mode of attention—comes in. We hear the revelation, we feel the thrill of our schemas stretching, and then maybe we empathize because we too have vulnerabilities we have masked; we too have the longing to be out in the open, to roam free, and to survive. So maybe then we are inspired to reciprocate with a revelation of our own. If so, the wheel of vulnerability, wonder, and connection turns once more, momentum is gained, the cycle is reinforced, and the dance reenergized.

And there, in that final step of the dance, is a subtle twist that I love. This moment of reciprocal revelation is another form of crypsis, but one motivated by the opposite feeling. Ordinarily, we camouflage our difference to fit into and protect ourselves from an environment we perceive as separate and hostile. But here, when our empathy leads us to mimic another’s vulnerability, we shed our protective camouflage because, whether we consciously know it or not, we feel no separation or hostility. We realize we are but different facets of the same single whole.

---