I’ve heard the adage “always tell the truth, it’s easiest to remember” credited to several people. I’m not sure who first said it–I know Mark Twain said something close–but I believe it. I have a good memory, but if I were to get wrapped up in a serious lie, I’m sure I’d trip myself up at some point.
I try to be honest, and most of the time, I am. Still, when I went on an online diet recently, I lied about what I’d eaten. Too embarrassing to put it in print. I don’t mind saying that here because I’m not confessing to too much, but I sure didn’t want to tell the anonymous people who might be reviewing my food diary. So I quit that diet and I’m trying something else. Not particularly successfully, but with greater success than I had with that program.
Well, now, here I go. I have had more success lately, but the word “greater” might be misleading. “Slightly more” would be the more accurate term. I wasn’t lying, but I understand how easy it is to fall into deception.
It hurts me when friends or family think I’ve lied to them, especially since I usually haven’t in the way they think I have. I may have at other times–like I said, I’m honest most of the time–but not the times of which they’re accusing me. And once someone is convinced you’re lying, all the proof in the world won’t change their mind. At least, that’s my experience.
We live in a cynical world, and people would rather believe someone is lying than be caught believing said liar told the truth. There are some exceptions–some people will believe others can only tell the truth, when all the evidence points to the exact opposite.
How do we discern the truth? Obviously, past history is a great way to predict the future. Also, most people, and I’m including those who are basically honest, have a tell when they lie, and a little experience can teach us what that might be. And let’s not discount listening to our gut.
I heard a famous author promoting his book about human behavior (and I’m not sure I remember who it is–Malcolm Gladwell, perhaps?) and he said something that went against everything I’d been told: there is no certain way to tell is someone is lying or being honest. We’ve all heard about common human behaviors that will tell others what’s going on, but apparently, there’s no scientific backup for that.
Bottom line, we can only control our own words and actions. So be honest–it’s not only the easiest thing to remember, it’s what others will remember about you.
Image Credits: Boy with long nose © Michele Paccione, stock.adobe.com; Signposts © Jon Anders Wiken, stock.adobe.com.
She chastised me for committing an offense I truly couldn’t see I was guilty of having done, citing a conversation I’d had with her husband as another example. By this time, I’d reconciled with the first woman, so I asked for her perspective about what our mutual friend had told me. I was concerned I might be blind to what would be a fairly significant problem.
High school was a challenging time for me, and there were plenty of days my appearance showed the depression, anger and hurt I was feeling so deeply. I could always count on my friends Leigh and Sue to compliment my hair or tell me I’d lost weight on those days. Trust me, the compliments reflected their kindness, not the truth about my hairstyle or figure.
After I wake up, I can choose what I eat for breakfast and what I’m going to wear that day. Okay, work has this bizarre dress code — I have to wear black, white or grey — but outside of work, I can wear what I want to (well, some choices might get me arrested, but those aren’t my choices, anyway). I get to decide whether or not I want to wash my hair or work with what I’ve got.
make and what yarn I want to use. There are more patterns out there that I like than I’ll ever be able to complete, and I’m grateful for that, as well. In theory, I can’t knit something I won’t like (nice theory, not always a reality!). But the abundance of beautiful patterns and even more beautiful yarns is awe-inspiring. And just plain inspiring.
We can write about what we choose, and a lot of what we write about involves choices we have.
She had twin daughters, Chantal and Sabra, who had just turned 18, but were both emotionally much younger. Chantal was the cherished child; as a result of her mother’s difficult pregnancy she had mild cerebral palsy, and every accomplishment was heralded by Cecilia as a miracle. When I say every accomplishment, I mean each one, no matter how mundane, routine, or handily achieved.
I could see nothing amiss. Cecelia asked me to come over and help her care for Chantal, whom she claimed had been beaten with a wooden spoon and thrown repeatedly to the floor by Sabra. I had my doubts. I’d caught this woman in a number of lies before, and I’d figured out the family dynamics. Still, I was concerned about Chantal. Even if Sabra had done nothing, I was beginning to wonder what her mother was capable of doing simply to get a little attention.
Until a month later. I never did find out whether or not she actually struck Cecelia (at some point I figured the girl would break), but Sabra ended up in jail for two days before appearing in court, where the judge dropped the charges and advised her to move out of her mother’s home. She did just that, and within a few weeks, Cecelia and Chantal left their apartment in the middle of the night.
The smile faded a bit. “Never,” she said. “I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again.” She paused. “They removed Chantal from her home. I want to see her, but she thinks I was the one who took her away from our mom.”
My World With Words 
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