The Things I Pretend Not to Notice
There are certain kinds of dishonesty that don't feel like lying.
I tell myself I'm tired when I'm actually disappointed. I call it being busy when I don't want to answer. I say I don't care because caring would require admitting that I do.
It's funny how easily a person can become their own accomplice.
I notice everything. The pause before someone answers. The message that gets shorter. The way a room changes when one particular person walks into it. I notice when I'm being tolerated instead of wanted.
Then I pretend I didn't.
Maybe that's what hypocrisy really is: not believing two opposite things, but believing one thing and behaving as though you believe another.
I want honesty, but I also want the comfort of my excuses.
I want to be understood, but I keep parts of myself deliberately untranslated.
I want people to tell me when I've hurt them, while quietly hoping they'll be too kind to do it.
And maybe everyone does this to some degree. We construct little stories in which we're reasonable, misunderstood, unlucky. The stories aren't always false. That's what makes them dangerous.
A lie is easier to recognize when it has no truth in it.
The harder lies are the ones built around something true.
A lie is an easy thing up front and a long hard road of difficult.
A truth is hard in the instant, and then, not the easy road. but not one of suffering.
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“May your seas be wide enough for wonder, your harbor always waiting, and your light never fail when another soul is searching.” – The Lantern Keeper