Liars

It's so interesting to contemplate the activity of lying. Some people are reflexive liars: they lie by reflex because they are scared, or don't know what to say, or want to hide so much about themselves, or perhaps because they don't even know what the truth is, so out pops a lie when they are speaking about some subject, as if the one speaking with them has pushed a button. And some are strategic liars: they plan their lies, sometimes in an instant, and they may not enjoy it, but they feel the need to defend themselves with an untruth. And some are compulsive liars: they can't help themselves, or they don't know what's true. And some are tactful liars: they compliment some factor of you or your appearance, just to administer a little uplift; or perhaps they feel caught out when you ask what they think of your hair or shoes or shirt, and they spit out a lie (which you might even deserve for asking).

Lying is not the same as storytelling, though a grey area might be said to differentiate the two. Telling a story may be an attempt at art, in which a nugget of truth nestles in its beating heart, or bits of truth are strewn throughout. Telling a lie may be an attempt to evade, hide, or run from the truth, yet it often can be found to point at the truth, despite its intention. In the aforementioned grey area, someone might tell a story, either to himself or to someone else, in order to make sense of facts. For instance if X and Y are friends, and Y stops speaking to X, without divulging a reason, then X may begin, without even planning it, to create stories explaining Y's silence. And these stories might not be true. Or, in a more common example, A and B might be in a relationship, and then get separated. They might tell different stories, perhaps sprinkled with truth.

Hmm.. I think someone I know is a liar, maybe the reflexive kind. I am a bit worried about this person's relationship with the truth. I wonder if he knows it or thinks about it, or if he thinks he just has to defend himself. At first I thought I was wrong and wondered whether I had just gotten the facts wrong. But then it keeps happening and some things are so evident. He's not particularly lying about almost-serious stuff, but about serious stuff.
And that is the kind of one-foot-away-from-the-truth kind of thing I'm talking about. This is very painful, and I find it compelling to consider why people do things. I am not particularly interested in judging this person for his errata, but I am so interested in his relationship with the truth and his perception of things, that makes him tell people different versions of some evident facts. I can’t even think lying is evil (though, like most things, it can be evil if you use it a certain way). I'm not saying lying is the province of cheaters. But it takes a peculiar sort of genius to dodge fact and hit truth. We should know there is truth at the end of every great lie. Lies framed in fact are the mark of a trifling amateur. For these, I suggest the wheel. Such bad habits must be broken. I'm signing off hoping he would change--at least someday!

Connectedness

Some of you have seen the film “Six Degrees of Separation” which spins out its plotline upon the notion that all people, everywhere, are within six people of knowing one another. And this might not be very interesting except that it beautifully illustrates a gem of world-view: everyone is connected. Lots of writers explore how people are connected. Only a few seem to think it’s a good idea to separate people, to impose distance (which is not the same as boundaries, which might be the subject for another musing), and huddle only with a select few. Some time ago I had an epiphany which got me past the idea that people are not connected; this epiphany has been unfolding, in fresh chapters, for years now.Some people don’t like this idea of basic human connectedness; usually, they’re the ones with something on their conscience. It’s a bit frightening to be connected to, or to be within one or two degrees of, someone you have harmed. Or a friend that you treated shabbily. Or an acquaintance you shunned. Or betrayed. Or avoided because you have something on your conscience. Fear is a burden, and I feel for people who carry too much of it, because I know how that feels.Then another epiphany unfolded: everyone has something on their conscience. That’s one of the connections. And this led me to this shiniest epiphany: it’s a good idea to forgive people. If I forgive people, I don’t need to worry about being one person away from knowing them. I don’t need to worry about them reappearing in my life, as people tend to do, sooner or later, in actuality or on the internet or in heaven or in dreams. What’s in your life stays there, and you can come to terms with it, but it will not go away. Naturally, I’m not referring to behaviors or to objects, but to people.Even behaviors and objects have staying power, I now realize. Some shoddy behavior of mine may be in the past, but it remains a memory in my mind. I can be forgiven and forgive myself, but the memory lurks, hopefully keeping arrogance at bay. And you might know the Orson Welles movie where the dying star, powerful and renowned, utters a word on his deathbed: “Rosebud.” People keep trying to figure out what it means, and only viewers know it’s his old toy sled from childhood—a relic of innocence, perhaps.Another chapter of this epiphany granted the realization that, even if I am not joined to someone by family ties, or the selectivity of friendship, or the peculiar intensity of working together, or what have you, we are still connected. One degree or six, the connection holds. This makes me suppose that I am responsible. I cannot act like a child who huddles and sneers with a clique on the playground, refusing to talk to someone for the eternity of a day; nor can I complain eternally about someone who annoys me. At some point I have to get over it and treat them with the openness of connection. After all, the connection appears to remain, no matter how we treat one another, no matter how far we try to run, or how busy we attempt to keep ourselves. So I might as well just open up. I might as well be decent to everybody.Despite the chapters of this epiphany, I am not perfect. But I am resolved to answer everyone’s phone calls or emails, unless you are a telemarketer or unless the technology is broken :-)