I cannot tell a lie. Trust me, I have tried many times. They were never big lies or dangerous lies or lies that could truly get me into trouble. They were tiny white lies, and as I told them or wrote them or thought them, I knew they would never work. I could feel my conscience shoo them away. I could see the recipients of those lies raise their eyebrows, and I ended up telling the truth.
Unlike most high school kids, I did not lie to my parents. This was not for lack of trying. I distinctly remember the elaborate moves my sister and I made to hide Mike's Hard Lemonade in the connecting pieces of our shelves. We smiled at my mother and insisted that alcohol was lame. We came home one afternoon to find our precious stash lined up along the kitchen counter. The hour spent deliberating the placement of our cargo was for naught. I stopped lying; it was a waste of time.
At 16 I was self-righteous enough to believe that my adherence to the truth and my peers' affinity for lies made me a better person than them. I now realize that I was probably just jealous that they got away with so much more than I ever could. I had several good friends who were pros at concocting un-truths. I secretly envied their abilities. I never knew they would use them to lie to me.
Several times during the past few years I have caught my friends in lies. The catching came months later, and the lies were not made up stories but rather the lack of any story at all. I like to think the omission of the truth is a lie. My 16-year-old self would cringe at the thought of anything but the whole story. When I realized my friends hadn't told me something I would have wanted to know, I became angry and flustered. No one likes to be the only one who doesn't know something, especially when it affects them more than the holders of the secret.
Until recently, I blamed my friends for keeping something from me. They said they only had tried to protect me. Again and again I argued I simply wanted the truth and they could protect me if they gave me that. I was wrong, of course.
I didn't realize this until I saw another one of my friend's hurt by the truth. She is, like I have always been, an avid truth seeker. She is more comfortable in the uncomfortable realm of what really happened. Yet sometimes the discomfort becomes too much to bear. I watched as the uncomfortable realm of the truth overpowered her and she backed away, finally afraid that she knew too much.\nAnd you can know too much. In high school I had a favorite quotation: "Anything more than the truth would be too much." Now I wonder, can the truth be too much? My new favorite quotation: "ignorance is bliss."
I know people scoff at that age-old adage; they think plugging your ears and closing your eyes cuts you off from a world in which you can gain a lot more from being present. Maybe they're right. Maybe ignorance is dangerous. But a little bit couldn't hurt. Hell, I think it could help a lot.
After I found out the secrets my friends had been keeping, my perspective on a lot of things changed. No need to beat around the bush, we're all on the same page here, right? Obviously we're talking about boys because what other secret could teenaged high school and college girls possibly care about? That was slightly facetious but mainly rhetorical. I don't want to be cryptic but there's no need to tell the whole story. The important thing is I found out the truth, I was angry, and not so deep down I wished I'd been kept in the dark.
It took me seeing my hurt friend and wishing she'd been kept in the dark to understand I have pretty decent, albeit truth-omitting, lie-telling friends. I still believe in honesty and I still cannot tell a lie. But yesterday - isn't it weird how many epiphanies one can have on a Monday? - after searching my brain for things I'd stored there and forgotten about, I found my own tiny secrets. Secrets I didn't want, but alas ones I received, whispered to me to put them back and forget they were there.
These were the stories I never told my friends. These were the omissions I instinctively created by keeping my mouth shut. These were the lies I was telling. I'd like to think I'm a good friend and an honest person at the same time. I don't like to think - but I do believe - being a good friend and telling the truth are at times mutually exclusive. In all my self-righteousness I'd forgotten what I blamed my friends for was something I'd been doing for years: keeping quiet.
I want to thank those friends for keeping the truth from me. I wish they would continue to do so. I want to tell my truth-seeking friend to stop searching, pause and tell those around her: spare me the details. I can tell a lie. I can say "nothing happened" and believe me, you should take my word for it.
Connelly's column runs weekly Thursdays. She can be reached at c.hardaway@cavalierdaily.com.
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