Lying: Cause and (In)effect

How we treat others begins with how we treat ourselves; lying to others begins with lying to ourselves. Not acknowledging our feelings (or dressing them up), avoiding responsibility, assuming ignorance, and conformation (self-denial) – these are all primordial forms of lying. We form an identity of a lie about ourselves, so naturally what comes out of us will have the capacity to carry lies as well.

Little lies, big lies – it doesn’t matter – trying to justify or quantify lying presents it as a norm, and eats away at our natural security, confidence, and genuine self-expression.

When we are ashamed of our mistakes, oftentimes, our first impulse is denial – in other words, lying. When we lie, we try to escape the effect of our selfishness. We want to avoid responsibility and punishment that comes with our bad behaviour. But our attempts are futile because each lie is like a chain that ties us down, restricting our freedom, entangling us in our alternate reality of fiction that we have to continually keep up. Eventually, we become so entangled in our web of lies that we fall prey to our own selfishness. People see us for what we are (or not are since the real self remains suppressed by lies) – a self-serving person who benefits at others’ expense. And the way people feel about liars is how they feel about parasites – suspicious, uneasy, and impossible to be around.

Instead of treating the symptoms – lies we tell to others – we should try to treat the source of this affliction – lies we tell ourselves. Instead of fearing what others might think of you based on how you feel or think, embrace it. They may not see you as someone you think they would approve of, but they would see you. And they would see your humanity – the capacity to be authentic, remorseful, empathetic (towards yourself and others), and capable of learning from your mistakes.

Superlatives: Inferior Identities

My best friend, my finest work, my greatest belief etc. – grandiose, self-identifying statements with self-pooring effects. When we label something as being of the highest order, we place a limit on our potential, others, and the world, as we perceive them. When we tell ourselves such narratives, we interrupt the ever-unfolding journey of life and feel like we’ve reached a destination. Comfort and security of accomplishment set in, and the spark of life, the curiosity and hunger for the unknown, for exploration and discovery, wanes. In short, we see less and correspondingly get less.

When we use superlatives to describe our relationships, we create attachments to people, activities, and things – not as they are, but as we perceive them to be. When we attach ourselves, we are less likely to try something new. We depend on, and often demand, a standard as prescribed by our superlative. A best friend should do this and that, and if they don’t, something is wrong. A finest work communicates that I can’t do any better. A greatest belief is one that reduces the beautiful relativity of individuality and the universe down to subjective absolutism.

Make and explore connections within your slice of the universe, but don’t make them your roadblocks. No matter how ecstatic and happiness-inducing an experience is, it is still part of a process of highs and lows. In fact, we must have lows to experience and identify highs, but there is no limit on their height, unless you assign it.

Humorous Permission

We seem to be most authentic when wrapping information we wish to communicate in humour. It can be a thought-out joke, or a haha or an emoji appended to an end of a pseudo-serious sentence, but ultimately there is some sort of truth or genuine feeling being communicated. Humour gives us permission to be honest and vulnerable, because it incorporates an insurance policy. If the information wrapped in a joke becomes too serious or offensive, we can always claim we were trying to be funny.