I remember people asking me when I was little what I wanted to be when I grew up. My answer always was “happy”. Some thought I was a sarcastic little bugger, a rude so and so etc. Those who knew me realised I was speaking the truth.
Of course I could have answered Air Hostess or Teacher or some such, which I later learned to do to avoid the look, but I have had this deep penchant for the truth such that my knee-jerk and considered responses are one and the same each time I am asked a question.
So growing up, as many of us do, I learned a bit of sophistry. It was painful, but came in handy here and there to shorten the impact reaction of grownups faced with a bright child. By the time I was 13 I was realising that sophistry, of my sort, was no longer very useful. I dropped it.
Then came young adulthood and the changes and upheavals that had happened in my life between 8 and 19 finally began to bear fruit. I considered it was time I became more like everyone (well not everyone, but nearly it seemed) and learn to lie. This was no mere sophistry, this was hard core lying I was going to have to get to grips with. And I being I studied the Art. I distinguished my earlier sophistry as a mere playing with words, and pauses, and silences. Lying was different. So I spent time observing, listening to, and mentally recording and processing the lies and liars I met. I decided I could do it.
I embarked wholeheartedly on my era of telling lies whenever necessary (a key factor to learn) which depended on whom I was lying to, why the truth could be bothersome to either I or the persons being lied to, the need to speed up interaction,…..and eventually, finally, the darned fun of it. I could lie with the best of them. Yep, I got so good it became less of a challenge of work and more of a game. I came close to lying “for no good reason” i.e. no determinable necessary factor, at which point I was given pause.
Was lying really necessary? I like being me. I was and am not truly given to lying, and the lying made me unhappy with myself. Who was I pleasing by lying? Those I lied to? Maybe, particularly if they thought I might be lying..but who else, really?
More importantly for me, was it worth the effort? Me being me or I being I, wholehearted lying involved concocting believable, credible(?) lies that could bear severe scrutiny. No wishy-washy liar me. But the problem with mastering the Art is that you have to remember all the bloody details, and moreover who had received which lie. Added to this was the catastrophic occasions when 2 or more people you have lied to about the same thing, but with different lies, are in the same room or car as you. Bad for the heart and brain.
This is when I decided that it was too much trouble, and unnecessary. You see, I had discovered long before my foray into the world of telling lies that many people do not believe me when I am telling the truth anyway, so why bother to lie? I could save myself all the angst, the heart-palpitations and mental or brain ructus, the time and effort (major bother) involved, and still kafuffle them.
So I reasoned I did NOT have to become more like everyone (well not everyone, but nearly it seemed) and lie. This way I was happy. This way I was healthy.
Lying is an exhausting mental challenge of work. I choose to be happy and healthy, because I love and honour myself.
Be good to yourself.
“What we admire in others reflect the qualities we have within our self.” https://carpediemwellness.org/3837-2/