I’m not all that into being honest. Seriously, where has being honest ever gotten you? Home alone on a Friday night with nothing but “Coal Miner’s Daughter” on TNT. And “Coal Miner’s Daughter” is a fine movie but it’s more fun to be out having fun now isn’t it?
So I’m not all that in to being honest. Honest in counting my change? Yes. Honest in putting in a full day’s work? Mostly. Often. Honest with myself about what my real motives and expectations are? Certainly an aspiration. Honest with you when I think you are being an ass or otherwise screwing the pooch? Not normally. Not unless you ask.
Occasionally I will get agitated enough that we need to have a conversation. At those times I try to remember that there is a better than 50% chance that I could be wrong. There is always information I do not have. I’ve also come to learn that I have blind spots of which I am blithely unaware.
Since I hope you are willing to cut me a little slack, I try to do the same for you. It’s possible that, like me, you are from the scratch and dent bin. I don’t know what your parents did to you when you were young (and I don’t really care to know. I’ll trust that they fucked you up and that you deserve the discount.). Garrison Keillor laments the days when an asshole was just an asshole, but I think every asshole has a story.
Even if you don’t have a story, I do. It’s a work and progress. As in all things, I hope for a happy ending. I don’t think telling you “things you need to know” and “setting the record straight” contribute to my happiness. If I have to choose between being right and being happy, I’ll take being happy. If I have to choose between being honest and being compassionate, I’ll choose being compassionate. And I’ll do a little stress eating when necessary.