Let’s be honest, we could all be a little more honest.
My personal flavor of dishonesty is the little white lie. Someone asks me a question and I conjure up some bogus answer. These are not high stakes questions — What are your plans this weekend? How are you liking House of the Dragon?
They don’t care what I’m doing this weekend. They have their own thoughts on House of the Dragon. Yet for some reason I tell them of all the glorious running around I’ll do, when in reality my plans include my books and my couch. For some reason I tell them “Dude, House of the Dragon is really good” when in reality I haven’t gone beyond the pilot.
It’s frustrating. I have no reason to lie, none whatsoever. But sometimes what comes out of my mouth is pure fabrication. It just slips out for no rhyme or reason. And it makes me feel like an idiot.
But the lies I tell myself make me feel worse. And I’ve told some doozies.
Lies about being satisfied with a career, being satisfied with a relationship, being satisfied with “fitting in.” We’ve moved beyond the foul after-taste of the little white lie into the hellfires of denial and exasperation. The stakes have been raised.
So what can we do about it? How can we stop lying to others (purposely or not) and stop lying to ourselves?
Becoming aware of your dishonesty problem
Someone smart once said “The first step to solving your problem is admitting there is one.”
Historically I’m a bad liar. Growing up (and even today) my dad could see right through me, as if I were transparent as glass. I never snuck out at night or fabricated wild yarns about grades or girls because I sucked at it. I took my punishments on the chin and moved on.
But a bad liar is still a liar. A bad liar still doesn’t tell the truth. He just doesn’t get away with as much.
Once I realized I was in fact capable of lying (and lying often) I understood the scope of my problem. And because I understood my problem, I was able to work on solving my problem.
Think before you speak
“Think before you speak” is one of those mantras they teach you in kindergarten but you never pay much attention to.
So much of day-to-day conversation is the back and forth. I say something, you say something, I say something again, and so on. Problem is, everyone is in a rush, trying to make their point or tell their story as fast as possible.
Because we feel the need to be quick on our feet, we rarely stop and think about what we actually want to say, and so what comes out (generally) is a garbled mess of words, feelings, emotions and, you guessed it, lies. We may not be lying purposefully, but a lie pops out none the less.
Think before you speak. Four words.
My “little white lie” problem has almost evaporated because I concentrate on thinking about what to say before I say it. Famed Canadian professor and scholar Jordan Peterson calls this “guarding your speech.”
Words are incendiary — this is the new normal in 2022. Words have the power to offend and wage war but also to heal and love. We must be extremely careful with the words we use and how we use them.
I no longer speak without thinking. I no longer rush to get my two cents in if I have nothing to add. I respect my words as the weapons of mass destruction and instruments of peace that they are.
What is it you want to do?
What about the lies we tell ourselves?
In the past I’ve justified my thoughts and actions six ways to Sunday. I’ve made bad ideas sound like good ideas. I’ve convinced myself bad feelings were really good feelings. Bad circumstances were good circumstances.
Perhaps some of these justifications were defense mechanisms, but most are examples of me being straight up dishonest with myself. I knew something was wrong. I knew something wasn’t right. I knew something could be better. But I lied to myself all the same, out of some misplaced allegiance to “doing what I was supposed to be doing,” or “if I stick it out long enough everything will fall into place.”
Forget what you think you “should” be doing. Forget what others want you to do. What is it you want to do?
Maybe that starts with what you don’t want. I never again want to work in an office. I never again want my time to be controlled by someone else. I never again want the feelings of guilt associated with taking time off or taking time for myself. These are tall orders, orders that will take significant effort and sacrifice on my part to fill.
But it’s a price I’ll pay gladly.
Once I established what I didn’t want it was much easier to start down a path towards what I do want. And because I’m going down that path, I’m able to live my life in a way I know in my heart is how I’m meant to live.
No justifications, excuses, apologies or lies needed.
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