Can We Live In Honesty?
The words came out of my mouth abruptly and awkwardly, but I was glad that I had said it.
My parents stopped eating and looked at me across the dinner table.
They looked at each other and softly chuckled. My mom cleared her throat.
“We’ve always lived honestly. What do you mean by that? Maybe you have something to tell us and you’re projecting that desire.”
My dad looked over and winks at me. He also knew that I was hiding that fact from myself.
I could feel my resolve weakening. Had I thought this through correctly? Did I come prepared with examples that could back up my claim that we weren’t living truthfully?
No — I had to speak up now. I knew that if I let this moment pass, there wouldn’t be many opportunities to do this. Even though I didn’t know what the final outcome would be, I needed to choose this path in order to grow as an individual.
Before I tell you what happened, let’s take a few steps back and go through what triggered my resolve for the truth.
I’m finishing up a tough day at work, when my mom rings the doorbell. My parents have just gone grocery shopping and need me to help bring it in. I had been sitting at home on my chair for the entire day, so I was grossly unprepared.
I began stretching like an Olympic gymnast, looking at myself in the mirror while whispering affirmations — “I can do this. There is nothing to fear but fear itself. It’s only groceries. These are the moments where heroes are born.”
I ran down the stairs where my parents were holding bags upon bags of groceries. I grabbed onto the bags and, activating all the deteriorating muscles within my body, made my way back up like Sisyphus, knowing that even when my first trip was complete, there would be more bags waiting for me at the bottom.
As I looked down from the top of the stairs at the horde of bags waiting for me, a small tear formed in the corner of my eye as I remembered Camus’ quote about the absurdity of life.
“The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” — Albert Camus
A sad but hopeful smirk emerged on my face as I walked down the steps to my inescapable fate.
Alright, I’ll admit it. Maybe I exaggerated a little bit. Maybe it wasn’t a horde, it was two bags. And maybe it wasn’t that heavy, just a few eggs and some vegetables.
But that’s all besides the point. Let’s get back to the story.
After I finished my arduous and herculean task, I walked outside to take a stroll around the neighborhood. As the quarantine developed, it’s become harder for me to stay inside all day, and so I started a routine of walking around.
It helps me get out of my “work mode” and relax a little bit. I’ve found that the solitude really helps recover my spirit, as I’ve found that it can get quite suffocating and depressing staying inside.
As I headed down the steps, my dad called out to me from his car. I walked over to him and he opened his wallet.
“Could you go to the deli and buy me a box of cigarettes? Here’s $20 — you can keep the rest.”
“No Dad. I’m not saying no because I don’t want to do favors for you, but because I don’t want to feel guilty in helping you speed up your death. I don’t want to conspire and help you meet your demise faster. I want you around longer, so that you can see me grow into a man that you’re proud of. I want you to be able to walk my sister down the aisle at her wedding, and be smiling alongside Mom at my wedding. I want you to be able to meet my kids, be next to them as they grow up, and share your wisdom like you’ve done with me. I want you to live and be healthy, so I won’t buy you those cigarettes.”
… is what I wish I could have said in that moment.
Instead, I feebly responded,
“Marlboro Reds?”
He nodded, and with a smile he thanks me.
As he drives away my head wrestles with the request.
Why couldn’t I have told him no?
Why couldn’t I have told him the truth, about what I was thinking?
Am I making a big deal about a simple request that he had asked? It’s also not like that one pack of cigarettes would have killed him on the spot. He could die from any other incident unrelated to smoking.
Am I the one overthinking and overreacting?
Should I override my initial reaction and ignore the truth within me just to make him happy?
For the entire hour that I walked around the neighborhood, I could not get my mind off the question.
I had grown up to believe that I should respect and listen to my parents. I was thankful for the sacrifices they made for me and my sister and wanted to give them everything I was capable of giving them. I wanted to give them everything they could ever want.
But even if you desire to give your loved ones everything they wanted, do you give them things that are clearly bad for them? If you loved them and cared for their health, wouldn’t you bend that axiomatic belief in order to protect them? I struggled with this question in my mind.
The dangerous thing about thinking and not articulating your thoughts is that you can never really know what you believe or what you think.
You need to write it out or speak it forth into being, otherwise it stays in its chaotic nature — formless, incomprehensible, obscure.
When you write it out, you’re confronted with your thoughts for the first time. You will read it and truly see if you agree with what you just wrote.
When you speak it forth, you will realize how hard it is to actually articulate the emotions and thoughts you’ve been having. Once you hear yourself articulate the thoughts, you will know physiologically if what you are saying is truly what you believe.
If you are saying something that you innately know to be untrue, you will feel weak and shameful. It is a peculiar design in the human mind — when you lie, you will know immediately that you are not saying exactly what you think.
What happens when you continue to ignore that feeling and lie? You will create a web of lies that you have to constantly remember and live a life that is filled with suffering and anxiety.
In order to cover your previous lie, you must produce another lie. Sooner or later, you won’t be able to keep track of everything and slip. People will figure you out and you will never be trusted again. Worst of all, you will find it hard to trust even yourself.
With all these thoughts in my head, I walked home with a heavy heart. I knew that I had to speak the truth, but I also felt guilty of wasting my dad’s time. If I had told him that I did not want to buy him the cigarettes, maybe he could have walked to the store and bought it himself. All I did was hide the truth from him and then proceed to waste his time. I did not know how to overcome the guilt as I walked up the steps.
I walked into my parent’s room, where he was watching a TV show on his phone. He looked up and smiled, expecting to hold the fully packed Marlboro Reds that brought him small pockets of serenity in his life full of suffering and tragedy.
Was I right to rob him of that? My heart continued to bleed.
I opened my wallet and returned the money to him. He glanced at the money and looked back at me quizzically.
“I couldn’t buy it for you Dad — sorry.”
I stood there waiting for the right words to come to my mouth, to muster up the courage to say the words that I’ve been practicing my entire way home, but all I could do was stand there and wait for his response.
“I see. It’s okay.”
I’m sorry.
He dropped the $20 onto the table next to him and went back to watching his show.
Tell him.
I stood awkwardly next to him, desperate for the truth to burst forth, but nothing.
Tell the truth.
I sat down next to him on the bed, wanting to be brave and wanting to tell him my true feelings, but I could not find it within me.
Even if it’s awkward, just push through and say what you think.
The laughter track from the show he was watching filled the room, exaggerating the silence between us.
I felt like the people in the show were laughing at our situation.
Why couldn’t I say anything?
I walked out of the room in silence, feeling the shame and guilt explode from within. I knew I would be able to find solace in here, to escape the world and be safe in my thoughts.
Whenever I have trouble taking action, I like to write about it in private so that I can practice what I wanted to say.
The first lines I wrote to solve the issue was the title of this story. It was the question that I wanted to ask my parents.
And when I think about it now, this question should actually have been directed toward me.
Change starts from within, and it always starts with the individual that wants to see the change in the world.
As I started writing the introduction of this story, my parents called me to join them at the dinner table.
I decided to face my fear and speak the truth, even if it was embarrassing, even if I stumbled around with my words and couldn’t articulate my thoughts and emotions well.
“Can We Live in Honesty?”
The words came out of my mouth abruptly and awkwardly, but I was glad that I had said it.
My parents stopped eating and looked at me across the dinner table.
They looked at each other and softly chuckled. My mom cleared her throat.
“We’ve always lived honestly. What do you mean by that? Maybe you have something to tell us and you’re projecting that desire.”
My dad looked over and winked at me. He also knew that I was hiding that fact from myself.
I could feel my resolve weakening. Had I thought this through correctly? Did I come prepared with examples that could back up my claim that we weren’t living truthfully?
No — I had to speak up now. I knew if I let this moment pass, there wouldn’t be many opportunities to do this. Even though I didn’t know what the final outcome would be, I needed to choose this path in order to grow as an individual.
While I won’t go into the details of the talk, I’d like to tell you what ensued after I decided to speak the truth.
I started to share what I thought the problem was. It was messy, mostly incoherent, childlike, naive. It was filled with blaming and guilt tripping. It wasn’t even close to how I expected the talk to go.
But it was also perfect because it was human, all too human. We think we know the truth about many things and become arrogant over time. We think we do not need a time of humility, repentance, and healing.
We are all hurting and we don’t even know how much.
I had never shared with them my worries, my scars, my sadness. I did not want to burden them with my unnecessary troubles, my ambitious hopes and dreams, and my frustrations.
I did not think they would understand, so instead I hid these thoughts away, thinking they’d all disappear if I did not acknowledge their existence.
But when I spoke the truth, I felt so much better. A heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I was able to share my fears with my dad. I was able to share the scars that I experienced with my mom. I was able to share what was bothering me and I was assured that there was nothing fundamentally wrong with me — it was all part of growing up.
During the conversation, my dad told me, “love yourself and be honest with yourself and others”.
Maybe I wasn’t telling my parents the truth and showing them my true self because I thought I had to be someone that they wanted me to be. I thought I had to do things that they expected from me in order to gain their approval. I thought I had to say things that aligned with their beliefs in order for them to love me. As I continued to think this way, I started shaving off the rough edges of my personality. I started hiding parts of myself that I thought were unacceptable to others.
Soon I became the embodiment of a people pleaser — having to live a careful existence where I could not offend or displease anyone started to destroy my soul and individuality.
But I came to realize that they would love me no matter who I was, because I was their son. They showed me unconditional love and I am eternally grateful and lucky to have come from them.
Dare to tell the truth. Take the first step and see what happens. If you want things to get better, you must admit the truth to yourself and to the people around you. You must admit that you have a problem and that you are going to try to articulate exactly what the problem is.
Then, you have to take action. This is the most important part because without stumbling around like a fool, you will never find the way to the destination you are trying to get to.
Have some humility, admit your ignorance and arrogance, and take a step forth into the unknown.
There are great treasures that can change your life if you’re brave enough to go beyond what is known.
“The fool is the precursor to the savior.” — Carl Jung
