The Irony of Truth

The Paradox by Felipe Morin.

Photo by Felipe Morin; creative commons license

Someone recently accused me of lying about something, and the true irony was that, of all the people involved, I was the only one who wasn’t lying.  That accusation actually hurt my feelings—a lot—because I’d insisted on honesty and openness from the very beginning and thought I’d established a fine history of truth and trust with these people.  But it was easier to misinterpret my words and intentions than to see what was really happening.  Or if not easier, less painful.

For that person, at least.

I was still stung, however, because there was so much known (and unknown) deception in the air—and though the people involved didn’t trust one another,  I expected to be trusted because I’d never lied to anyone involved.  Idealist that I am, I expected that consistency to mean something.    Maybe, over time, they’ll look back and see that I always operated from a place of honesty.  If so, there are likely to be regrets on their parts.

Illusion can be a beautiful thing.  Sometimes, to stay out of despair, it’s a necessary thing.

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