Speak the Truth Day

Many years ago, when I was a little less patient and understanding than I am now -- and also pretty stressed out by a very demanding workload that seemed out of balance with what the others in my office were doing, I came up the idea that once a month we should have a day when everyone was allowed to say exactly what was on their mind. No “flowering things up”, no editing, no censorship, no hypocrisy. Just “tell it like it is.”

My coworkers said, “No deal.”

The person who was most adamant about not having a "Speak the Truth Day" was the one I most wanted to speak my mind to -- and I’m sure she knew that. In her defense, it would have been harsh and it was a bad idea. I found myself frequently irritated by her -- she was nice, well-meaning and did her job but she was not very smart and I knew I carried an extra load accommodating for that. Then there are just some people who get on your nerves -- and I’ll reveal my dark side in saying she got on mine, and I felt a little bit of twisted pleasure in imagining what a relief it would be to just express myself freely.

Though this idea was dropped like a hot potato, I’m pretty sure it had at least some appeal to others -- in part because who wouldn’t want unbridled permission to say what’s on your mind without fear of the consequences? Very liberating.

But there’s more to truth-telling than that. Hearing the truth means we know what the situation is, which doors are open to us and which are closed. When we speak the truth others know where we stand. I think that’s something we all crave. It’s the flip side of truth-telling that scares us. If we speak the truth freely, will we hurt someone else’s feelings? Will they hurt ours? Will hearing a particular truth force us to make a decision we don’t really want to make? Will speaking a particular truth mean changing our lives in a way we’re not yet ready for? It gets very complicated.

There’s been a lot said about truth-telling:  “The truth hurts,” “You can’t handle the truth,” “The truth will set you free.” As immediately gratifying as it might have been to have my “Speak the Truth Day”, I don’t think the gratification would have lasted for more than a moment -- because for me the answer to de-complicating truth-telling is in the statement, “Above all else, to thine own self be true.”

There’s no glory in hurting someone’s feelings by being “snarky”. But there is glory, and growth, in staying true to your convictions and principles -- and expressing them consistently through what you say and do. When you speak the truth, in a thoughtful way, you affirm who you are and you make a comfortable place for those around you to speak the truth too. That’s a “speak the truth day” I think we can all live with.

The Motherless Daughter

Thirty-two years ago today my mother died. She was 57 years old, and I was 29.

They say time heals all wounds, but sadly I know this axiom isn’t true. Sometimes the pain of this loss is dull and distant, at other times it is sharp and immediate. Over the years there have been many occasions when I was able to talk about her with great objectivity and little emotion. There have also been many times when I’ve found myself suddenly and unexpectedly overcome with grief, regret, guilt, longing and sorrow.

Today I felt her presence very strongly and missed her very deeply. I am actually glad for that. It would be sadder still to no longer feel a connection, a deep love, a longing for my mother. My father passed away almost two years before my mother, and though I was a daddy’s girl and loved my father very much, it is simply not the same. Children seem to continue to love even the worst of mothers -- I believe it’s a biological imperative -- and mine was among the best. No matter how old we get, we still need our mommies.

This morning, in yet another affirmation of the serendipity of life, the kismet that threads through our days, the coincidence that is really thinly veiled guidance along our right path -- as I was searching for an address book so I could call my aunt, my mother’s oldest sister, I instead came upon an accordion file of my mother’s many writings -- which I had organized and categorized a few years ago. Among her many talents, my mother was a gifted writer -- yet she never shared her written voice beyond putting typewriter or pen to paper. Perhaps she would have done this later in her life, when the internet made sharing your words as simple as putting fingertips to a keyboard. But she ran out of time.

I have time. So I will make sure my mother’s voice is heard for any who want to hear it, but most importantly for those of us who loved her -- and whom she loved.  It will be my ode, of sorts, to my mother.

I love you, Mom.