I was never one of those “honesty for the sake of it,” “speak your mind” kind of people. I’m more of a “no those jeans don’t make you look fat,” “in my humble opinion” kind of person. One of my favorite bloggers writes about it fairly often, and I never really got what the big deal was about honesty. Obviously it does have its merits, as not all bloggers are trustworthy in what they write.
With this blog I’ve been trying to be brutally honest about myself, not because that’s my default setting, but because I don’t see much point in blogging otherwise. I try to be honest even when it makes me look bad, even when it makes me look ridiculous, patronizing, petulant. Because that’s what life is like inside our own heads, I think.
There’s already so much fiction in our everyday, regular lives. Even the person who never tells a lie certainly edits themselves to different company; and even with the people we’re closest to we don’t share the most painful doubts or the complete bursts of ego we have. Carolina Herrera once answered the question “On what occasion do you lie?” with “Whenever I have to … it is called manners.” I like that response. Lies, white and otherwise, do have their place in our lives, in being civilized.
But one of the things I find most beautiful about meeting new strangers, whether it’s at a cocktail party or on a blog, is that there is generally no reason to lie. Perhaps it comes down to a personal outlook. But with a stranger there is no intimacy to be betrayed, no illusions to shatter, no expectation to disappoint with the simple truth. There is only the reality of who you are, in that capsule of time–of relatively small talk over drinks, or the skimming of a post–after which you can take it or leave it. No feelings hurt.
So that’s how I feel about this blog. There’s no “this is me, get used to it!”; just “here it is, for what it’s worth.”