I often wonder how honest people are.
In passing or intimate conversations, I question how much of the truth they’re telling me or what they might be omitting.
Daily life doesn’t really allow for honesty. Between conversational pleasantries, cordial exchanges and the to-do lists that season our days — there isn’t much space to tell the truth.
And yet, I hunger for it…
I’ve always had an insatiable craving to know what is hidden. I want to hear the thought in your brain that feels like the elephant in the room. Or to hear you say the thing you don’t want to admit to yourself. I want to know what scares you, moves you, what you love and what you hate.
I want to know the thing you regret or the conversation you replay in your head when you’re alone. I want to know the invisible fights you rehash in the shower or what you say when you’re talking to yourself in the mirror.
I like to know why people are the way they are and why they do what they do.
At times, in moments of conflict, this quest for something that feels hidden is so strong that I probe for things that aren’t really there. Often, to my own detriment, I convince myself there is something being left unsaid.
I temper trying to close the gaps with my own imagination.
Sometimes my body does this thing where I can viscerally feel when someone isn’t telling the truth - not even to me, but to themselves. My stomach gets tight, an agitation comes on, and a restlessness permeates my body. Just say it. I think to myself.
I never know when to speak up about it.
I usually don’t. (I sensor my truth, too)
intimacy
honesty is intimacy. my favorite form of sex is an an honest conversation - people revealing themselves to one other and the contents and textures of their inner worlds.
there is a tragic beauty in the fact that we will never truly know someone. even those we share our whole lives with, those we live with, or those who seem to know us better than we know ourselves sometimes.
i look at my husband each night before we fall asleep and i know that i will never know all the thoughts that color his mind or the exact words that live in his head or the mechanics behind the way his specific brain will form sentences when expressing a thought. i will never know what he feels exactly how he feels it, i will never be able to hear the words he chooses not to tell. but as insane as this sounds - i want to. i wish i could. and not because i need to know anything in particular or for some grasp at control, but because for a brief moment, i would know what it feels like to be another person.
where truth is found
i like raw edges. imperfect forms. freudian slips. i like half-finished sentences and trains of thought. i like when someone doesn’t care about being likeable. i like when i show up to functions with my hair unbrushed, face undone and when I opt for cozy vs. cute. i like when people look me in the eye. i like when people admit they’re nervous. i like when i can hear the noises of life in the background of songs. i like when a singer’s voice cracks because they can’t contain the emotion spilling out from them or when someone’s voice starts to shake when they’re a little afraid to say what they’re about to say. i like when a paperback book gets wet and the pages become crunchy and crumpled. i like when i see half eaten cookies in the cookie jar from whomever was craving a late night snack. i like when my leather or denim starts to break in and soften. i like when my socks start to get holes in them.
where there is imperfection, there is also truth. beaming evidence of human life.
the shape of dishonesty
sometimes i look around and see a world devoid of honesty.
we’ve become quite accustomed to numbing out the truth. we shut any bubbling whispers of honesty up by stuffing our minds, mouths, or bodies with anything that will quiet these inconvenient voices.
in return, we settle for a flattened version of reality.
everything we encounter online is mediated by curation: images on social media selected to match aesthetics, filters applied to mask any remaining semblance of what makes us look like we actually do. even the news is mediated by contrived and emotionally manipulative headlines that get us to react one way or another. we try to convey everything about who we are into a bio line or profile page. we overthink our email signatures and wonder if our overuse of emojis or exclamation points betray formalities.
everything we encounter in the real world is mediated by politeness: when we meet with acquaintances, we give them the highlight reel. when asked about our day, we reveal only what is needed to maintain pleasantries. we hide our primal urges in favor for civility. we construct a well-thought out explanation for certain behaviors or decisions when what we really we want to do is bark, or growl, or yell. we fake orgasms. we stay longer than we really want. we say “omg i miss you! let’s meet up…” and never text them back. we stop conversations just before they get uncomfortable. before they get real. or perhaps, before we disagree.
I think, when we look close enough, we can see the truth in momentary glimpses. A subliminal message flashing across the screen. If you blink, maybe you’ll miss it. The grimace on someone’s face. The way their voice changes. Any subtle disturbance in one’s physicality.
Our bodies never lie.
the shape of the truth
here’s the power of the truth: a moment of truth-telling can liberate you from years of pain you’ve held inside. an honest conversation you don’t want to have can repair a lifetime of damage.
all instances of cataclysmic and irreversible change start with telling the truth.
the experience of the truth
how do we know what the truth feels like?
though it’s different for everyone, i find the truth often feels like the thing that gives us a lump in our throat each time we want to talk about it. it’s often the thing we’re avoiding. sometimes it’s that passing and quiet thought that seems to hide out in the back of our mind before we do something. other times it’s a fire in our belly that propels us forward and yet we stop ourselves.
honesty, or truth, is also when we what we feel and how we express how we feel are congruent.
sometimes truth is that line in an argument we know would break them. but will free us.
the vehicle for truth
how much of our lives go untouched, unexamined, or worse - unlived, because we are not willing to engage with the truth?
questions are vehicles for truth.
the quality of our lives is often determined by the quality of the questions we are willing to ask ourselves.
and subsequently, the bravery with which we are willing to receive the honest answer.
sometimes we fear asking ourselves the questions we really want to ask because we don’t truly want to know the answer. we’re afraid of how our lives might need to reorganize around our newfound disclosure.
we fear what part of our lives might need to explode to pieces in order for us to live a life that is a little closer to the truth.
we’ve all been here before: we ask God if this man is the right one for us and God promptly gives you evidence that this man is, in fact, not. And yet we ignore the signs anyway. the last time I did this, I gambled away 4 years of my 20s. of course, everything has a lesson and yadda yadda but those 4 years could have definitely been better spent utilizing my youth and energy towards my passions than worrying about if a man wants me or not. the thing is, i knew the answer to that question before i asked it. but it wasn’t until i was ready to bear the consequences of that answer that i could accept it and move on toward what was more honest.
maybe we’re just afraid of what we really want:
to be loved. to be whole. to feel like we’re alive and inhabited in our skin. to feel utilized and fully expressed. and, if at all possible, to feel happy.
Questions worth asking for truths worth knowing:
How do I really feel? What really matters to me? Who am I? What are my gifts? How do I use them? What do I want to contribute? What is my deepest regret? How has living with this regret shaped my life thus far? What can I do about it? How do i define success? Do like I myself? Am I doing what I really want to do? Am I doing it with who I really want to do it with? What do I think about this? What brings out the best in me? Who brings out the best me? What can I celebrate today? Who can I help? Where the fuck are my keys?
dangers of losing the truth
when we lose a sense of truth, we lose intimacy. and when we lose intimacy we lose the moment. when we lose the moment, we lose our humanity.
when we try to file people under labels or organize them into tidy boxes so we can assign them any presumed personality traits that will make them more digestible to us and guide how we will treat them, we avoid contending with the reality that we are all inconveniently human — inherently flawed, disturbingly complex, and disgustingly nuanced.