Tell the most truth.
I'm a liar. Some of my oldest memories are of me telling a lie. "No, teacher, I didn't write in the library book; my sister did." "Yes, ma, I took a bath." My lies were for noble reasons — to avoid shame, to avoid telling that boy I didn't like him as much as he liked me, to avoid getting my hair wet. I call these the GOOD.
The worst were the lies I told myself—I won't eat fast food this week, I'll get on the treadmill every day, No, I didn't pay full price, I got this on a super sale. I call these lies the BAD.
Eventually, a large portion of my life was a lie—shopping bags hidden in the trunk and wadded up in the back corner of the closet, hidden text messages from that guy who was 'just a friend,' credit card bills that got sent to the office instead. I call these lies the UGLY.
With decades of practice, my noble intentions turned nefarious. I was bending and shaping reality with just some little dingy white lies.
Until I became too grown, too self-sufficient, and too "I pay all my own bills" to go on like that.
Jordan Peterson famously says, "Tell the truth, or at least don't lie." I think Jordan meant to always tell the truth, and if you can't do that, keep your mouth shut. And like my true nature, I will take that and attempt to raise it: I will strive to tell the most truth. Telling the most truth requires you to say the things you would rather keep hidden, the things that don't enhance anyone's life to know and don't harm them if kept hidden. But they shrink me. They dull my light.
Even when typing it here, seeing ahead the path I've just declared, I want to keep some things hidden-- wadded up in the dark corner of my closet. With a lump in my throat and a quiver in my lip, I'm hoping that's what this…whatever this is…will be my salvation.
I hope to bring one truth to light at a time. The good, the bad and the ugly.