An injurious truth has no merit over an injurious lie.Mark Twain, On The Decay Of The Art Of Lying
Nearly every drive I’ve made is based on a virtuous lie. I tell myself, “I will drive myself to this place because I must do this thing in this place and this way.” How often is that true? I may have been honest at the moment, but I’m not sure it was the truth behind my choice.
I used to own a T-shirt that read, “I’m sorry I’m late; I didn’t want come.” The shirt’s message is more honest than I am comfortable admitting.
Yes, I drove because I had to go to work. Yes, I drove because I had to see my parents. Yes, I drove because I had to visit a client. Yes, I drove to see you.
These are all honestly what I had to do. But if I took a step back, I didn’t have to make many of those drives. I wasn’t driving because it was what I truly wanted to do, but I drove out of duty or obligation or responsibility or shame or anxiety or for fitting in.
…or for money. Apparently, my virtue can be bought.
Sometimes I drove to avoid the very same duty or obligation or responsibility or shame or anxiety. I often drove to avoid the discomfort of feeling or experiencing loneliness, grief, isolation, rejection, or confusion.
I realize that perhaps I bought the convertible, not simply for the sunshine and joy, but to make the virtuous lie of why I am driving to this or that place more enjoyable.
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