This morning, I was chatting with my cousin, and I shared that I’m deeply obsessed with and captivated by the way that moisture sits on grass, flowers and leaves. I acknowledged the weirdness of this sentiment, and he responded by telling me that he is obsessed by the way bodies of water ripple (he’s on vacation right now, so picture turquoise water gently lapping). I laughed to myself and reaffirmed that we share a brain, mostly.
Later in the day, I was dining with a dear friend and co-worker and shared how I was feeling about a situation at work and labeled that as weird. My feelings. I called my feelings weird.
And then, I started to think about the way in which I disclaim or caveat my feelings. It happens a lot.
Then, I thought about a live interview I watched on Substack recently (Soft Core) where Molly Rosen and her guest were discussing the shame surrounding the admission that you don’t wear sunscreen. By you, I mean them. They don’t wear sunscreen from time to time and acknowledged that this violates most of our cultural and societal norms that push the use of sunscreen all the time, everywhere, particularly when it comes to women of a certain age and children (sunspots! wrinkles! irreversible damage!).
I pondered the notion of radical honesty and how it abuts all the ways in which we avoid unapologetic ownership of our feelings and behavior.
I know. What the fuck am I talking about? Well, I’ve recently been asked to explore radical honesty. Specifically, how it works and if it’s really possible and what challenges exist. I recently attended a small women’s gathering and expressed to the group that I thought the biggest challenge where radical honesty is concerned is that we have such a hard time as humans being honest with ourselves. I opined that I’m not sure if we can engage in radical honesty if we can’t master that skill. Of course, I said I’m not sure, because I’m not. Maybe the two behaviors can peacefully co-exist. Perhaps we can flagrantly lie to ourselves or just avoid the reality of a thing to protect our own peace all the while keeping it real with others.
What do you think?
Let’s explore a pointed example. Body image. I know, cringe, but it’s such a pervasive and critical issue that I feel sure that it’s the one to use. I have many friends in my age bracket that are exploring how their bodies are aging. Weight gain, sagging, wrinkling, jiggling. Veins, bruises, bumps, lumps, and discoloration. Thinning, thickening, and everything in between. To combat these changes, as society wills us to do, we use lotions and potions and drugs and a shit ton of self-punishment. Of course, much of this is combatted with binges and exceptions and one-offs and oh shit moments. It’s all a journey, right?
Anyway, friends express the ways they are deeply unsatisfied with the aging process, and I usually gently explain that this is what happens. We age. Everything changes. We grow hair where we don’t want it and lose it in places where we want to keep it. Things are less glossy and too shiny, and we spend a lot of money and time trying to find ways to reverse course. But we are all in it together and this is what we’ve got, and we have to make do. Also, no judgment and all the support and pom poms, hugs and high fives. Right?
What if the whole time I’m spending reassuring my people that they are doing their very best, I feel like I am beating myself up about my efforts and the results. What if I tell them that this is just the way of things, but I can’t tell myself the same? Is that hypocritical? Loathsome? Dishonest? I am being honest when speaking with them, but it’s a truth that I have trouble getting down where I am personally concerned.
Any energy that I expend talking about how fine I am is really evidence to the contrary.
And yet, there are places where I truly don’t give a fuck and I still feel compelled to throw out a little disclaimer. Like finding a soulmate. I’ll tell you all day long that I am not sure I’ll ever find my person and moreover, that person may come in the form of a friend, but I STILL need to tell you that ‘you never know’ and ‘I’m always open’. Why?
When we decide a nail polish for our toes, do we spend time telling people that really, we would have been fine with any color? Do we feel compelled to acknowledge the other options and advise that truthfully, we could have gone in any direction and the last thing we want to do is limit ourselves or throw shade on a different…well, shade?
No.
All of this is because whether we like it or not, we are all bought into the bullshit. Well, not all, but a lot of us. Even when we say that we don’t care and it doesn’t matter, and we pave our own way, we will secretly care how far off the most chosen path we are in the greater scheme. And we will likely remark on that differential and minimize it as much as possible and posture to the best of our ability.
This is my truth and that’s that, but I hope it’s okay and it doesn’t have to be yours and I reserve the right to change my mind and anything is possible.
But, why?
Maybe the very first step in radical honesty is admitting that it’s really terrifying being honest because once we put our truth out into the universe, we open ourselves to whatever comes back our way as a result. Maybe we need to admit that it’s not even the vocal objections that scare us the most, but all the thoughts that aren’t shared with us. All the comments and notions and thoughts that are whispered behind our backs, in offices and bathrooms and bedrooms. Maybe we want people to think how fucking cool we are for just living life in the way we want to, without a thought to who is paying attention, but we aren’t that cool, and mostly, we want to be accepted and even, gasp, liked.
Here’s the thing, I don’t really give a fuck if people like me, but I still want them to.
You get it?
Now, you try.
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