When the truth hurts, should it be uttered?

THE TRUTH LIVES!

I tend to think that the truth should be told more often. Things like, people should know if they're dating a jerk; people who lie to you or to themselves should be told to cut it out; people should hear that their inconsiderate, rude behavior is unacceptable; and people should be warned if they're about to make the stupidest decisions of their lives. What stops me? Lots of things:

• I might say it rudely. Usually when I most want to point out truth, I'm feeling very frustrated by the apparent blindness of the person involved. Would it be right to share it, even if I might be angry?


• I might not have the place to tell someone the truth. Either because it would be hypocritical of me or because I'm not really involved as a parent or other authority-type figure. But truth is truth, no matter what the source, right?


• I might not be right. Maybe what I think is true in the situation is not quite true—doesn't take into consideration facts that I'm not aware of or is biased by my own experience. Bias is inevitable, though, and all human perception is limited. Surely that doesn't invalidate all insight.


• They might not be able to handle the truth. Sometimes I get the feeling that a person is not ready to face up to it, like this is just something they'll have to learn sometime later down the road. Then I start worrying about whether there's actually going to be someone standing there, ready to share this truth, once the person is finally ready to hear it. What if nobody's there?


• They are not listening and wouldn't hear truth even if I said it. Yes, there are plenty of folks like this. Sometimes, though, words have a way of weaseling their way into the stubbornest of minds. Case in point, I still remember several things my Mom taught me when I was feeling my moodiest and most rebellious. I scowled at the time, but the words stuck. I thought about them for a long time and had to conclude, if sometimes begrudgingly, that they were true. Who knows what will stick and what won't? Should I deny someone the opportunity to learn and grow?


• The time and place might not be appropriate. It wouldn't be right to embarrass someone—but then again, what if they've just been very rude? What if they're embarrassing themselves already? Wouldn't it be a form of true friendship to point out truth?

This has been my quandary off and on for several months. It's not like I think I'm the receptacle of all truth or anything; I just think that we all see times when we could speak up and point out things, especially things that are patently obvious to the sensible and considerate but to which other people seem to be becoming increasingly blind. When do you speak up? When do you hold your tongue? Obviously it's best to be as loving and good-intentioned as possible, but sometimes truth has to be served without butter or honey. Sometimes truth hurts. How do you decide when to dish it out?

Comfort Movie

And I said, "What about Breakfast at Tiffany's?"
She said, "I think I remember that film,
and as I recall, I think we both kinda liked it."
And I said, "Well, that's one thing we've got."

Deep Blue Something, "Breakfast at Tiffany's"

Something about the slow advance of autumn and winter makes me want to see this movie over and over again. For some reason it strikes all the right chords in me. I guess it's mostly because of Sandra Bullock's character, Lucy; I feel a real kinship with her. Unlike the heroines in most of the rom-coms of the last few years, Lucy is smart, goofy (but not in a stupid or ditzy way), and most importantly, she's genuinely kind and interested in doing the right thing. So I actually care what happens to her. It's not a "real" story, and it's not realistic in every detail, but the characters are real and the feelings are real. So yeah, when I feel dreary or lonely, this is my comfort flick.

Do you have a movie that you watch just to feel comforted or relaxed? Maybe it's music or something else for you instead of a movie. What's your comfort media?

The Single Life

I wander through the still of night,
When solitude is everywhere—
Alone beneath the starry light,
And yet I know that God is there.

Theodore E. Curtis, "Come unto Him"

I've recently spent several days helping a friend—a single mother, a year or two younger than me—as she recovered from surgery. This friend's life is very difficult and hectic, even when she's feeling well, and her two-year-old is definitely an independent spirit. I was glad to help out so she could rest, but I was surprised how hard it was for me and how tired I felt afterward.

In the aftermath, I've caught the flu or something. It hasn't been very bad. Actually . . . I'm almost enjoying it. Weird, huh? But I'm really enjoying how, without a pang of guilt, I can pamper myself as much as I want. As I make myself some soup or put on a movie or mix up a pitcher of orange juice, I think, "Isn't it nice that I don't have to drive a kid anywhere or take care of a toddler who needs care no matter how mama feels? Isn't it nice that I work from home anyway, so I can stay in bed all day like this? Isn't it nice that I don't have to take care of anyone else but ME?" Yes, it is nice. It's exceedingly nice.

Nope, I don't have a husband to bring me soup and orange juice, worriedly caress my fevered brow, or other things I sometimes imagine. But I also don't have a husband who has to leave me for work every day anyway, and I don't have to feel guilt or resentment over a husband who doesn't nurse me the way I hoped to be nursed. I don't have roommates to rush to the store and buy medicine if I need it, but I also don't have roommates who make noise at all hours of the night or germophobically quarantine me to my small area of the apartment. It's a comfort to know that I have family and friends nearby to help me if I need it, but it's also nice to be sick without worrying about spreading germs or being in other people's way.

Like anyone else, I'd love it if someone stopped by to see how I was doing or brought me chicken noodle soup, but I've learned that people (including myself) don't really think about what sick people might like until they're sick themselves, so it doesn't bother me when no one does anything special. I'm glad to have the means and the know-how to do for myself. This is what my time in this rather selfish time of life has taught me: everyone is selfish most of the time. Most of the time, everyone is thinking about themselves, their lives, what they're doing or saying. Knowing that makes me glad to be single, because I have a valid excuse for at least some of that selfishness.

So here I am, in my quiet, peaceful place, resting on the couch among blankets and soft pillows, with a movie playing and dinner and water close at hand. Flu or not, life is good.

Waiting

I don't know how much of my life I spend waiting for things, but it's probably a shockingly significant amount. I've been waiting for this move to finally be over, to finally be settled in my new place, waiting for movement in a relationship, waiting for a bit of free time to dote on my unearthed dollhouse. And I've been waiting for this stuff to happen so I could write about it.

Well, let's put an end to waiting, shall we?

Yes, I found an apartment here in my hometown, not too far from the family home, and right now about 98% of my stuff resides therein. The rest of it is scattered here and there around the old house, for me to retrieve during future visits. It's proving hard to totally leave this place, mostly because I don't really want to. It turns out I love being close to home. I'm loving it more now that I have my own space to retreat to. I love that I don't have to say long goodbyes to my family anymore; I love knowing I can drop by and see them whenever I've a mind to. I wonder why on earth I put it off as long as I did. Why did I linger so long in Utah? What was I waiting for?

Oddly enough, it was when I went back to Utah on vacation last week that I realized just how settled I've become in New Mexico. I realized that I finally do have my own niche here, which is something I'd hoped for. Thus it was that almost as soon as I got to Utah I wanted nothing more than to go back home and live this wonderful life I've found here. I took pleasure from visits with family and friends, but part of me was just waiting to go home again.

Of course, reality tends to intrude at rose-colored-glasses moments like this. I came home and rediscovered that yes, it's a great life, but there are a few unsettled bits at the moment. To love life, I have to appreciate that there are ups and downs to it. The biggest down right now involves waiting. And waiting. Waiting for someone to decide what he wants and make it a priority, or for my feelings to ebb away and follow a new direction. I'm more patient than I used to be, but I still don't like how helpless I feel waiting for something that's out of my hands.

Why wait? Today I'm going to do. I'm going to smile, get some boxes unpacked, and enjoy dinner with my family. I might have to wait on other things, but I don't have to wait to enjoy life.