Days 0634, 0635 & 0636

When I was about 16, I really pissed off a young woman who turned out to be a frenemy (though we didn’t have a word for it in those days: they were just a friend who wasn’t that great to be around. This one kept getting mad at me, telling me off and then a few days later she’d come and apologise, only to get mad at me again soon after.

I couldn’t be bothered after a while.

I think what I’d done to really annoy her was this:

She had spent a lunchtime moaning about how her parents never believed her and questioned her when she said she was going out as if she was lying about where she was going.

Now, we all knew she was lying about where she was going — she had told us that she was.

My mistake was to say: But why should your parents believe you if you are lying to them. Surely they are treating you the way you deserve to be treated.

I’m sure it must have sounded pretty prissy coming out of a 16 year old’s mouth, but I didn’t mean it that way. It just seemed so obvious. If you’re lying to someone, you can hardly blame them for realising it.

In the end it’s a case of the emperor having no clothes and the dislike of having your nakedness pointed out.

Halfman hated me for that too. When I finally realised what he was doing/had done to me, I think he expected I would just fade away into the background but I didn’t. I pointed out what he was doing and although he never gave me the satisfaction of acknowledging I was right, I know it killed him to be told he wasn’t wearing any clothes.

Even with small things. I caught him stalking me one night on Facebook — I could see an old profile of his pop up in my window because – in those days – he’d been classified a ‘close friend’ and fb loves to tell you when they’re online too.

But I couldn’t block him from seeing anything because he suspended his profile in between uses.

When I told him I knew what he was doing, he first denied it, then told me he didn’t respond to demands and then pretended he didn’t know how to reactivate it even though he’d clearly done it many times before.

I admired his ability to cling to his not-actually-there clothing.

But I did wonder what the inside of his head must look like to allow him to keep on lying even when caught out so obviously.

As I age I find it harder and harder to bother not telling people when they aren’t actually clothed; when their reasons/excuses are ridiculous.

I no longer sit politely and clap when a speaker fills a room with ridiculous excuses for being cruel to people just because that’s what we’re trained to do. I get up and leave. Or I stand and turn my back.

Or I find a way to out them in my work (I write stuff for a living).

I think this is a new measure for me — I will measure my honesty by how willing I am to declare the emperor naked when his meat and veg are clearly on display.

And my innate Canadian politeness should see me through any consequences.

Except for a white lie situation, is it ever rude to tell the truth?

Days 0568 & 0569

Just because it’s written down, doesn’t make it true.
Just because it’s written down by a lawyer, doesn’t make it true.
Just because he knows every button of mine, built most of my tender spots with his own hands and has no sense of anyone else’s needs, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to read the words ‘blatant disregard’ in reference to my performance as a parent.
In fact, it is how he has the balls to write that black is white and white is black that almost makes me wonder: is he right? Is it true?
One of life’s little (black) magic tricks.

Day 0479

I can be terribly demanding on the whole ‘always tell the truth’ thing.
But I’m yet to be convinced that’s a bad thing.
From the trivial to the most complex the desire to construct a lie only really comes to me when I’m uncomfortable or ashamed about a choice I’ve made or an action I’ve taken.
I use that as a warning sign.
I’m not better than anyone – I feel the desire to run from hard things by lying. Of course I do.
But when I get that internal panicky feeling I interpret it as a sign I need to rethink the decision I’m wanting to lie about.
If I don’t have the courage of my decisions or the confidence to admit when I’ve steered myself or others wrong, I suppose lies would be The Option.
This is brought to mind not by Halfman (breakthrough?) that Dark Prince of The Lie, but by something at work.
In a nutshell, the boss agreed to a decision but has told me he’s going to lie about it if a certain group asks why we’ve done what we’re doing. To me that just says: you’re not comfortable with the decision. Have the respect to change the decision or stand by it, but don’t lie.
I certainly won’t be backing him up if I get asked about it.
Life’s too short to lose your values at work over other people’s weak characters.

Day 0348

What is it with men thinking that telling a woman they’re ‘really bright’ is a compliment? I mean, I suppose it is, but every time I’ve been told it, it’s presented to me as something surprising or comparative. Neither of which comprises much of a compliment in the end.

“You really are as bright as your friend said!’

‘You do actually know your stuff!’

‘You can hold your own during intelligent conversation!’

Why thank you, you condescending shit.

And, you know, the men who have felt  this was a big enough issue to raise with me multiple times, have given me the impression of being well-read, intelligent and interesting, but have turned out to be … not so much.

It’s one thing to have been exposed to good learning, to have read ‘important’ books and learned Latin. It’s quite another to be intelligent and a ‘thinking person’ who can play with ideas and make connections between things.

So perhaps in the end, intelligence is like some of those other qualities: beauty, integrity, decisiveness … in that the more one speaks about them, and the more one makes a point of recognising them, the more one is desperately wishing someone would tell them they possess those qualities.

In journalism school we were taught to: show not tell

In PR I learned quickly this is true. I can tell you I’m honest all I want; it doesn’t mean much until you can see me being honest.

Day 0297

A man told me recently that the only unforgivable aspects of people that cross boundaries from one relationship to another are:

• Poor taste in music, and
• Deceit on a grand scale.

Meaning, I suppose, that if you’re once a liar, you’re always a liar. And that if you like listening to K-Tel’s Greatest Hits of the 90s, you’re probably going to continue doing so for the rest of your long, poorly soundtracked life.

I was thinking about the liar thing. It’s one of those lines in life that, once crossed, becomes easy to cross again and again until it becomes habit and you may not even notice you’re doing it any more.

Once you break that taboo and realise you can get away with it, it would be hard not to keep it as a weapon in your interpersonal arsenal.

Especially passive lying, which you can even convince yourself if thrust upon you by its victims.

She didn’t ask, so I didn’t really lie. Is that what goes through their heads? Because what’s really happening is: She trusted me so she would never expect I was deceiving her.

As I may have said before, I am faaar from perfect, but unless we’re in white lie territory, whenever I’ve been given the advantage of a passive lie, my conscience has tended to make me go back and correct things or admit to the lie that was born. Not always pretty, but I sleep better at night.

The only way to break deceit is with the truth.

And, once broken, the lies can be scraped away like so much freaky scuz on the under-lip of a neglected toilet bowl.

It’s a rueful and mildly cruel laugh that comes out of me when I think of how I broke the deceit Halfman set up. How I crossed the wall he had built — where he had her and me balanced daintily on either side. And his texted plea that came after (imagine whiney voice — I did): ‘She already knows I’m struggling with my feelings for you’.

As if she knew the depth of what he was really up to.

 

Day 0271

Do you look people in the eye?

I do. I’m told it’s unusual. Maybe it’s a cultural thing. I’m told Canadians tend to do that.

A man told me that men tend to take direct looks a certain way, whatever the context. That they see it as an invitation or interest at least.

I find that a bit unfair.

I do it because how else do you get to know someone? By talking to them, by spending time with them, by looking at them. I know it’s a cliche but eyes are revealing. Lips can form lies but eyes aren’t so capable of deceit. That is how I know Halfman did care for me at some level: it was there in his eyes at the most intimate of moments. I trust what I saw there even if I don’t trust any other part of him.

After a man assaulted me I spent ages in front of a mirror looking into my own eyes. I don’t normally like looking at myself. I went through six months last year where I covered my one mirror with a towel to save myself the horror. This earlier period of staring into my own eyes was an odd thing. I would stare and wonder if I was in there: I had so numbed myself to every feeling on my skin and in my heart.

I was buried in there somewhere and I wanted to find a trace.

When I look directly at people these days, I do it to get to know them, of course, but also to confirm to them that they matter, they exist. And that I care about that.

If we spend our lives staring at each other’s feet, where would that take us?

Day 0224

How do you define ‘friend’?

It depends a bit on the day for me. Today my definition is:

A friend is one who puts an arm around you in spite of the snot coming out of your nose and the tears that stain the shoulder of their shirt.

One who expects nothing other than your friendship and maybe a bottle of wine when you walk through a door.

One who believes you when you tell them you want an honest answer.

Who takes your advice, even when it means doing something hard.

Who will be devastatingly honest with you.

Because before anything — before you being a girl and them being a boy or vice versa, before their needs – physical or otherwise — before anything at all they respect you and DO NOT want to lose your friendship. Your company. Your thoughts and perspective.

What is it about me that this is not how I define a lover or spouse?

 

Day 0208

An exact representation of my last break-up haircut.

Today’s topic: The Break-up Haircut

I am a strong believer in The Break-up Haircut. It washes That Man right out of my hair both literally and figuratively. It makes me feel renewed, refreshed. I can look in the mirror and see someone a bit different and, in a really self-centred way, it makes me feel like That Man no longer knows what I really look like.

When I lost my first real boyfriend, I went from hair-to-the-waist to a blunt bob just below my chin.

When I lost my True Love, I cut a fringe into my hippy hair.

When I went through the throes of disentangling from 15 years of abuse, I grew my hair from pixie cut to long, long, long to show myself how much time I had gained On My Own. Free at last.

Then, this past January, when I lost the One I thought was my Bestest, Closest Friend, I went in for a haircut.

And it was a total disaster.

My one instruction: No Spock from Star Trek Fringe, thank you. But the hairdresser was soooo much younger and cooler than me that she gave me what I now know is called ‘The Frame’ because she didn’t like my ‘Epic Wedge’. She had hair the colour of watered down cotton candy: perhaps I should have known.

I HATED it. I went home and spent hours pulling at those poor truncated hairs, willing them to lengthen. I saw myself in the mirror and HATED it. The harshness of my face compounding all the loss I felt.

Now I realise, in my world of symbolism, I went for that haircut too soon. It was only when The Frame had finally grown out into something resembling a fringe that I realised I had pulled the trigger in the midst of The End, not At The End. I had to find out The Truth about that relationship before it could be categorised as truly over. Before I could really wash it out of my hair.

I believe there’s a saying that fits that, something along the lines of ‘the truth shall set you free and lead to good hair’.

In conclusion, the break up haircut is therapy. Good, useful, effective therapy. But as with therapy, timing and the ability of the therapist to listen are everything.

Day 0171

Do you generally believe people? Or do you like to check up on them until they earn your trust?

I have always believed that people are telling me the truth unless proven otherwise. Once in a while I meet someone whose ‘truth’ unravels quickly. And the better I get to know someone the more willing I am to believe important things; that’s just a growing depth of trust, not a lack of trust.

I was told yesterday that I should have taken steps to double check that a paramour wasn’t lying to me — including meeting with his estranged partner to ask her.

I defaulted immediately to thinking: ‘Of course, I should have done this, it was so obvious and I am a complete loser and heinous human for not doing so.’

But a day later, and following an enlightened chat with a Wise Man, I know that isn’t the case — at least this time.

I choose a life where I believe the believable people, where I don’t need to get corroborating stories from others when tells me what appears to be an honest and intimate truth. Most of the time it works: I only get duped once in a while.

And I think I’m still allowed to be angry at being duped.

Believing people and trusting in them is a gift given by the person who trusts.

I am not a fool. And I chose to trust a believable man.

It is what he did with that trust that is wrong here. Not that I gave it to him.

 

Day 169

What is kindness?

I think kindness is a side effect of love.

You can show kindness to a stranger — that demonstrates a love of humanity.

You can show kindness to friends and family.

And you can show kindness to the one you love.

Kindness is the simple things:

Helping someone with a sore back put on their socks.

Giving someone a second chance when they stuff up.

Assuming the best of a person and that an out of character oversight or neglect was accidental.

Telling the truth even when it’s hard or is likely to cause pain.

Being true to yourself so you don’t go astray and involve people you care about in disastrous situations.

Being confident enough in yourself to have confidence in those around you.

Kindness, like love, is not always soft and gentle. Sometimes it stings or causes hurt. 

And like love, when I feel kindness, real honest-to-good kindness, it takes my breath away with its respectful simplicity.