Day37: The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable

Lying. Today I delve into the deep pits of secrets and lies and why we do it. This is actually my second blog about lies, but the first was more about honesty and had a different perspective. So I'm repeating myself, bite me. We all lie, every one of us, and if someone tells you they don’t, well then they’re lying. That’s not to say that all lies are equal. Certainly lying to your 87-year old Grandma that the pot roast she’s been cooking for approximately three days is not, in fact, dry is much different than say telling your Mom you got hit by a car to cover up the fact that you went riding on the back of some random’s crotch rocket after she expressly told you not to and then he wrecked and you limped home bloody and bruised . . . um, just hypothetically speaking. Also, yes I’m aware that might have been the longest, most poorly written sentence of my life.

Lying can be done to hurt or help. We cover up our own bad behavior as well as the actions of others with a well-placed lie. Sometimes we lie for no reason as in a story exaggeration. Then too, are the lies we tell to protect the people we love. This type of cover-up can be done for both selfish or caring reasons. A friend you betrayed would be hurt to know of your deceit just as much as she would be to find out you saw her girlfriend on a date with another girl. We never want to purposely hurt someone – well, that’s not true, in a fight with your partner around the age of 23 saying whatever is most painful always seems like a winner, but that’s beside the point. Lying tends to be born out of a self-protection instinct.

As children, our first lies are told when faced with getting in trouble. I still remember the exact moment I learned to lie. My older brother and I were playing in the living room when he broke a vase. Unlike family rooms living rooms were only meant for company and not for any actual “living,” so if something got broken it was usually something nice. Anyway, when Mom came into the room brandishing the wooden spoon she’d been in the middle of stirring the homemade beef and noodles with, he got spooked and said he didn’t do it. I should make it clear that it’s not as if she were going to actually hit him with it, the spoon just happened to be in her hand, but it was enough to convince Tommy that a lie was just the ticket. Being at an age when “the Mommy” still represented all that was powerful and just in the world, I was shocked that he not only lied, but that he got away with it. She didn’t punish either of us that day. I knew right then, that lying was for me and we’ve been pals ever since.

I lie about all kinds of stuff. I lie about liking or not liking certain food just to get out of eating it or to seem agreeable to my host. I lie about when I sent in the credit card payment when I accidentally answer the call from Skip, my friendly Indian customer service rep. Sometimes I lie about things that embarrass me. The dentist who asks if I floss always gets and enthusiastic yes despite my not even owning floss, just as when I trip over my own too-high heel I pretend it was something on the ground rather than a loss of girl-tration. (Girl-tration, is what I call the specific things women focus on, like walking in stilettos, keeping your legs together or crossed when in a skirt, not emasculating our men --even when they are being complete idiots, you get the picture.)

Lying is like a silent partner in life. You call on it for support, reassurance, escapism, protection, you name it, a lie can help you with it. Except when you suck at it. Personally, I can craft a detailed lie without a second to think ahead. I can cry on cue, add just enough detail to make it seem real, but not rehearsed, I’m a pretty damn great liar. Great that is, until you ask me a yes or no question. Because once you do that, the pretty little story I just made up goes south and I admit the truth. I don’t why I do this, I just have always been really bad at that part of lying. I think it’s because my Mom was so great and sweet and honest. I’m sure she lied too, but probably just the good kind.

Because I know I will crumble if questioned about the validity of any lie I tell, I learned at a young age to tell the truth, but in a way that people will take for sarcasm. When I would come home after curfew to find my Mother waiting up in the kitchen. I would flippantly tell her that yes, I was absolutely out drinking, having sex, and riding on a motorcycle and that tomorrow I planned to investigate the merits of marijuana. Shocked by my directness and doubting that I would admit to such things I was given a stern, “Oh Ame!” and off to bed she went. I did the same when I used to wait tables. Those annoying customers who ask for things one at a time instead of just thinking ahead used to aggravate me beyond belief. After an hour of constantly running back and forth for these plan averse idiots I would say something like, “ okay now, take stock while I’m here and decide if there’s anything else you might need, because I’m not ever coming back to your table." People loved this. They thought I was so funny with my witty banter. I thought they needed a drinking straw pummeled through their temple.

However we do it, lying is a part of each one of us. I try to be as honest as possible, sometimes brutally so, but karma’s an even bigger bitch than me, because sometimes the truth hurts more than a lie. I look back on my choices now and realize there are a few things maybe I should have lied about, but didn’t or at least lied better about them. Friends won’t always forgive you for things, partners can’t always understand, family isn’t always by your side. We have to earn these things and sometimes we’re just not good enough people to get the job done right, so maybe a well-crafted lie is the kindest thing you can do. Unfortunately, you never know that until the cat’s out of the bag and shitting all over your house.

Day 21: Uh-oh! Dad is Pissed!

Today I got an email from the husband stating that while he liked my latest blog he wanted to discuss a few parts with me. That sounds a bit ominous, does it not? Hmmm. Given the personal nature of my blog and the fact that I routinely walk the line of disclosing information that not only effects me, but affects others, I do worry. There have been days that I think twice about the things I have written, anxiously waiting for feedback to determine if I have really gone too far, only to have the blog I’m most worried about be accepted by everyone. You never know what is going to set someone else off or for that matter even get their attention.

The details that seem to stick in our heads are distinctive and subjective to each individual. At times I have been positive that I have gone too far. Thinking that I basically had called pregnant women with cleavage sluts, I raced to my computer to delete the offhand remark, only to discover a comment from a friend citing it as very funny. Other times, I’ll say or write something I see as innocent, only to have it trotted out as evidence of my callousness. Well sure, I can be as insensitive as anyone else, but often these slights are not done intentionally. As I frequently tell people, I may be bitchy unintentionally and I’m sorry, but when I mean it, there will be no doubt. The expression of my inner bitch leaves little in the way of ambiguity.

So what do we do when we unintentionally offend someone? Do we even really owe someone an apology if the fault is not that you hurt them, but that their own sensitivity led to the issue in the first place? One of the pitfalls of everyone thinking you’re a bitch is that people forget you have feelings too. No one apologizes to me when I become sensitive, they seem more surprised than sorry. Yes, I talk about intimate things in my life, I am pretty vocal about my feelings, and I usually let you know if I’m pissed off. What I am not great at, is letting people know when I am hurt. Again, this falls in the vulnerability category and I think I’ve pretty well established in past blogs that this is not my strong suit.

All kinds of random things hurt my feelings, from a friend not making time for me in over a week to the husband criticizing my writing. We’re all different; these are dicey waters. Do you recall the updated plotline of the movie, Father of the Bride? In it, the daughter of the character played by Steve Martin calls off her wedding because her fiancé gave her a blender as an engagement present. She saw it a sign of oppression. I viewed it with envy. That was a kick-ass kitchen appliance and if there is one thing I love more than feminism, it is the full range of kitchen gadgetry. Buy me a blender, rasp, pots, knives, juicer, etc. and I will cry at your thoughtfulness. Where other women see the constraints of traditional society impinging on their use of free time, I see a future of top-notch baked goods coming out of my kitchen. To buy me such a thing tells me that you know my heart and are a person who has taken the time to truly get to know me. To other women it might signify you are a misogynist or just lazy. Go figure.

So getting back to the point, here I am, 6500 miles separating me from the husband and I’m waiting around to find out if I’m trouble. There is nothing more unsettling than knowing you’ve screwed up and waiting to take your punishment. As a person who experienced a childhood in which I was always in trouble, this is a very familiar feeling. My parents were not violent people, but I do know I pushed them pretty hard. Imagine a two year-old that you want to punch. Pretty difficult right? I know two can be a challenging age to parents, but they are still pretty cute at that age. Well, I was the toddler that my parents and other adults always seemed to first be shocked by and then with whom they found themselves fighting their most primitive instincts to come to blows. Let’s just say that I know how to push people’s buttons; a skill I have not been shy to take advantage of in years past.

I know I have a big mouth and I’m pretty good at using it to piss people off, but it always hurts and surprises me a bit when I unintentionally offend others. I mean, I actually am a pretty sensitive person. So while you may be upset with me and off nursing your own wounds don’t forget that I may have some of my own. It hurts me when you say or do things that make me feel like I am not important in your life. I’m actually not that bad of a person, I just say what other people think. If you are my friend and there are important things happening in my life and you seem disinterested for three weeks, it’s going to hurt me. If I am trying to be honest and live my life the way that I need to and you want to know why I can’t just be like normal people, it’s going to hurt me. If I’m drunk from three whiskeys and you think I don’t need a fourth, it’s going to hurt me . . . wait, that last one might not be the same type of deal, but whatever. You get the point.

We are all different, and different things are going to set each of us off. Maybe the husband isn’t mad. Maybe he just wants to question my grammar in a section (I usually write these when it’s late, so it’s kind of a craps shoot). Either way, I feel the dread the way I did that time I disobeyed my Mom and walked across two busy roads to Hook’s drug store with my friends then got caught. It is too late to take it back, all I can do is wait for Dad to get home to find out how much trouble I’m in. So husband, whatever I wrote, I didn’t mean. Well, that’s totally not true, but . . . um, I love you and think you’re really swell.

You know what I really love about being me and saying what I think all the time? It’s a bumpy ride, but in the end I’m real, I’ve lived life and I’d rather be alone and know that I didn’t play it safe than live to be 90 and know I shanked it.

Day 14: Your Ass Does Look Fat & The Lies We Tell

Honesty is rarely truly honest. In fact, the absolute truth may seem like the easiest thing in the world, but it happens less often we acknowledge. Dozens of times a day we are given the opportunity to be honest and yet very often, that is not what happens. A friend may ask an opinion or confide a secret and your response might be based less on truth and more on kindness. We tell people what they want or need to hear and that isn’t always the same as our real feelings. What about if the truth will hurt someone you care about more than a lie? Or if that lie actually helps you in some way, even though it is hurtful to another? Do you still lie? Do you still cover the truth?

Best friends have a responsibility to be supportive to one another, but this might occasionally clash with what you actually believe. What if she is acting stupidly and you see the disaster coming? Can you tell her? Do you owe the truth or a shoulder? The same is true for your children. When they ask you if you have ever smoked or done drugs your answer may not be as easy as the truth, because sometimes the truth can cause more damage than a lie. In a society that tells us repeatedly that the truth is king it can be difficult to acknowledge that sometimes a lie is necessary.

Hurting the people you love through betrayal is an ethical breach. We are supposed to protect and honor the people we love in life. Respect and honesty go hand in hand, but just knowing this does not mean you will always be able to walk on the side of what is right. Mostly we commit a series of little lies. We sneak Bailey’s into our coffee, substitute decaf for regular, fat free for full, get out of a party with an excuse, etc. In these situations we are not lying to hurt someone. Perhaps our spouse needs to cut back on caffeine or to watch his cholesterol. Maybe you’re just not up to another party filled with happy couples when you are still single or your partner is away. Kids ask a hundred questions a day and many of them require delicate manipulations of the truth rather than the sting of reality.

My husband is halfway around the world fighting a war he neither started nor wants to be part of, but he believes in what he is doing. I am a pacifist, I not only hate war, I do not believe in the Armed Forces. After three moves in 16 months and six months gone in a year-long deployment I am faced with the decision to lie more often than I would like. Would he rather hear that I was out last night partying with friends or should I say I spent a quiet night home with a book? When an ex-boyfriend emails me out of the blue or wants to be friends on Facebook do I own up to not only the contact, but to the nature of the past relationship as well? How far do you go to protect the ones you love? Should I tell him that I spent an entire weekend crying or feeling sorry for myself because I am once again in an unfamiliar city trying to make friends and a life while missing him and our old life together? For that matter, does he tell me about the soldier who was decapitated by a rocket propelled grenade or watching as the guy beside him gets blown to bits? Do we really need to hear the truth? Do we actually even want to?

In a perfect world we would never do anything to hurt another and the truth wouldn’t cause hurt feelings. I don’t always make the best or smartest decisions and I have hurt many people in my life. What I can say, is that I did not lie to cause pain to those I love. If I lied, it was not a willful action to hurt someone close to me, it was less about them and more about me. While it’s true that we all have a responsibility to protect those we love, we also have an obligation to be happy and to true to ourselves. Once we start acting in the best interest of others at the expense of our own happiness and well-being we run the risk of causing even more damage. Do you want your parents to be happy and fulfilled in life even if that means they separate, or do you want them to stay together no matter what? We all did things as children and teenagers that our parents were better off not knowing. We survived and spared them the agonizing worry. As adults, sometimes we need to make that same decision even if morality teaches that a lie is wrong. The difference, is that now we are old enough to feel the hurt that a lie can cause. I may lie to protect you, but it still hurts me.

The best any of us can do is to try. Try to live an authentic life. I am this person and while there are days when I’m not entirely sure who that is, underneath it all I am the same at my core now as when I was a child. I make mistakes and I accept them as part of the flawed woman I am. Accountability is more important to me than never taking a chance in the first place. Each decision I make in life, each choice, no matter if it is good or bad, is my choice and I live with that. Regret is easy; people rationalize their mistakes and bad choices by having regret later. Regret will not unring a bell. A lie can be a kindness to help a friend, a gentle omission to protect a child, or a decision much more complicated.

For me, when you look at the facts I try to be an honest person and I do not like lying. The truth, however, may not always be the best path. That is a hard lesson to learn. Life would be so much easier if we could tell the truth always to everyone without worrying that we might hurt their feelings or cause pain. Sometimes those pants really do make your ass look fat and sometimes your happiness is worth a lie.

Day Nine: Thanks to you, I'm me

I have trouble letting things go. Once wronged, I will hold a grudge or at least continue to obsess over the events leading up to the misunderstanding. Was I at fault, were you? Even worse, an unresolved situation will continue to haunt me as I run through scenario after scenario in my head, even going so far as to play out both sides of a possible future conversation. I am the girl all men hate because I NEED closure. I can talk a subject to death in my head before I even say the first syllable out loud. To me, it is not so much the events of life that matter most, but the interactions and the intentions behind them. I will spend hours pondering what you meant by something that to you was just an offhand remark, because I believe there are no offhand remarks. There are no words spoken simply out of anger or created more by inebriation than heartfelt emotion. If you said it, I’m betting there is at least a part of you that meant it.

I am friends, or at least friendly, with every man with whom I’ve had a relationship. Teachers or other adults who mentored me as a child are forever frozen in my mind as beloved role models. Routinely, I think about friends or people I knew in elementary school. To me these are not just people that I knew, they are parts of me. Every conversation, every interaction, every silly afternoon on the playground adds up to create the person I am today. This afternoon for instance, Amy Shirey friended me on Facebook. Amy and I lived in the same subdivision and went to school together from first grade on up. We were friends when we were younger, but drifted apart the older we got. Still, I remember little things with Amy. Like, how for a while we called each other “toothpaste” as a kind of inside joke referencing Aim toothpaste and the fact that family and friends frequently called us Aim for short.  I remember her little black and white dog, her Mom, the “if you sprinkle when you tinkle . . .” plaque in their bathroom. Amy wasn’t just another girl I knew, she was a person that I invested time and emotions into and then we just . . . stopped.

When I get sad, I often begin with whatever it is that is making me blue at that moment, but it is never a far leap to once again feel the betrayal of my first love, the failure of my first long-term relationship, the loss of a cherished friend. For me, I feel the part each character of my life story played in who I am today. Austin, Dave, Mrs. Mitchell, Dixie, Cathy, Shannon, Professor Kaufman, and even an early childhood friend like Amy.  Each of them holds a piece of me, whether they realize it or not, just as they are part of me. I feel the hurt I caused Sean, the joy and fun of Mike, carefree summer days with Monika. Can you ever really lose these people when the time spent with them helped shape the person you now are? People love to say that you can be whatever you want to be and that your behavior is a choice, but can you really, and is it that simple?

God knows I have done everything possible to drive the husband away. I’m not what you’d call easy to live with, although I will say that I am much gentler and less angsty than my younger self ever was. Even so, I have made tons of bad decisions and my frequent commentary about how I don’t believe in marriage or how I don’t like the military can’t exactly be heartwarming for him. Still, he takes it all in stride. Anger, hurt, disappointment, this man has sucked it up and come back for more. And so I ask myself why? Why does someone as intelligent, talented, respected and accomplished continue to deal with the messes I create? Because he can’t let go, because I am a part of him, because there is a whole aspect to his being that never existed before he met me and now he cannot or does not want to separate himself.

We are all just a sum total of the people, places and interactions of our life. I often find myself wondering if others remember me the way I remember them. People I haven’t thought of in years will suddenly pop into my head and I will immediately correlate it with some event or consequence for which our relationship was the catalyst. Some of this was answered for me when I became FB friends with my old flame Mike. He remembered things that even I had long forgotten. In some ways it is comforting, albeit in an ego soothing way, to know that others think or at least remember you. The impact we all have on one another is so much more significant than we give credence to, and the more heartfelt a relationship, the more influence it will have.

Friendships forged when we are children are huge for me. Schoolmates are sometimes in your life for up to 12 years. While it is rare that the kids you played with on recess are the same friends you shop for prom dresses with, they are still part of your fundamental years. Then again, maybe I’m just a little weirder than you. I don’t need to have day-to-day or even yearly contact with people to still feel very connected to them. Matt Kelley will always be close to my heart because the time I knew him was integral to the woman I became.  The same can be said for a dozen other people and the supporting cast of my life story is huge. I remember you. I even remember when I wronged you. I’m just that kind of woman.

I am a big believer in not having regrets. This philosophy is the way I try to live my life. I may screw up, but it’s me and it’s real. It would be easier to excuse away slights to others by claiming that I didn’t mean it or that I regret it, but in the end every action, every interaction, becomes a part of who I am no matter how painful the lesson might be. I love with abandon and deeply. It’s not always neat and tidy or appropriate to who I am or where I’m going in life, but I cannot deny that each decision, each action, each mistake, is a part of me and I try not to regret anything. One day when the husband tires of my shit and kicks me out, that too will become a part of my story. For now, I just hope that each decision I make is not the breaking point. I talk too much, reveal too much, drink too much, judge too much, hell, I even love too much.

I live life in excess and each and every relationship along the way helps to write my story. I may never be able to settle long enough to find true happiness, but the glimpses I’ve caught are worth it. The husband is good and true and way out of my league, but he loves me and I’m going to do everything I can to keep him from coming out of whatever stupidity coma he’s been in the last five years. The funny thing is that despite knowing that he is too good for me, I can still recall the fights, the hurt, the episodes of miscommunication, and the moments when putting his head through a wall still seem like a pretty good idea just as easily as I remember and feel all the good times, happy memories, vacations, and laughter. It’s all a part of me now. I just hope that of all the people I carry around as part of my story they also carry some part of me. So Amy, Monika, Cathy, Dixie, Mrs. Mitchell, Shari, Chad, Brent, Tina, Usha, Sean, Austin, Colleen, Nikki, Dave, Matt, Echo, Jenni, Gordon, Tim, Sherri, Prof. Kaufman, Shannon, Pauly, Mike, Evan, Steve, Janelle, Sarah, and Jeff thanks, you helped to make me who I am. I might have been a bit of a mess back then, but I’m getting better every day and as long as the husband is still with me I guess I can use that as a gauge that I haven’t totally screwed it up.