Much is made about getting rid of our possessions and traveling light so that by lessening our burdens, we free our minds. And why not? The chance to cast off your shackles and gain clarity of thought is alluring. At some point in our lives, most of us feel like casting off our problems in favor of a minimalist approach to life—even just for a moment—and some of us might even pursue it. Heck, some of us might take it as far as opting to live in concrete blocks with solar panels and using rainwater for our water supply. But most of us will probably only take it as far as a weekend hike into the woods for a brief material shedding.
However we go about it, the need to simplify is both instinctual and necessary for our mental health. Recognizing that the things we hold onto are actually holding onto us, is an important step in progressing towards a life centered on your values rather than what society deems worthy. But the older I get, the more I’m aware of one thing that people don’t easily let go of, no matter how much of minimalist lifestyle they live. It’s a nagging weight that people hide behind as if it will protect them from feeling pain or discontent—something one can’t get away from by simply heading off into the woods for a spell.
Too Much Lying
Perhaps it’s because of the current news cycle or the barrage of misinformation on social media, but society seems to be suffering from an incredible epidemic of lying. It’s rampant. And maybe that’s the way humanity has always been. Artificial intelligence really isn’t anything new when you think on it. But now we are saturated with it to the point of numbness. The last thirty minutes I spent on Instagram was a carousel of images and videos where I had to constantly fact check A.I. images or another politician’s outrageous claims. It was a silly waste of time.
The problem isn’t just online though. Lying is everywhere you go. For example, somewhere between 15 and 25% of married people cheat on their spouse. When you consider almost 50 percent of marriages end in divorce, one hopes that the divorces take up a good chunk of those affairs. Of course, some divorces aren’t from affairs but bad marriage situations that people need to get out of, and many people keep things above board and give it their best. I’m just saying: most of the divorces I know of are the result of one person cheating on the other.
Shades of Gray
But beyond some big marital lies, in everyday life, people let the fibs fly for a whole host of reasons. People lie to their bosses, and bosses lie to their employees. Students cheat on tests and lie to their teachers. And some teachers don’t have the energy to deal with another irrational set of parents, and fib about their kid’s performance. Some lies aren’t meant to hurt.
Oftentimes we lie just because we need some alone time or need to keep our sanity or avoid criticism. Husbands and wives may fib to their spouses that they are out doing something important when they really just need a few minutes alone. Kids may tell their parents they are going to a friend’s house when they are in fact really going to a party. Classmates may lie about how well they did on a test or say how little they studied when in fact they studied all night long. Some lies come from a desire to protect our peace.
The Pivot Point
But the online swirl we now live under is so omnipresent, so cancerous, it’s got me thinking: when a world is stock full of ridiculous falsities propagated as truth, how much easier does it become for us to lie in our own lives? You know, the old: everyone else does it, so what’s the big deal? And falling into that trap, what of that burden? What of the reality that the more lies we tell, the harder it gets to keep all of our stories straight? How heavy is the stress we bear? How heavy does the guilt become when our lies hurt someone else?
I’m currently reading Peter Matthiessen’s memoir, The Snow Leopard, in which he says, “being true is better than being strong,” but I think I’d add to that and say, being true makes you strong. When you set truth telling as a pillar of your life, life becomes simple and clear. With less baggage, you have less complications. Your daily load feels lighter and when things feel light you feel—yep, you guessed it—stronger.
The search for the snow leopard isn’t really about the leopard…
My Middle School Twilight Zone
When I was a young man—ok not man, a twelve-year-old kid—I told a lot of lies. I was entering a new school and trying to fit in using the approaches that worked at my old school, which was exactly what my parents were trying to get me away from doing. Most of my fraud was just about my character, putting on a persona that wasn’t really me, hoping it would prove to others how awesome I was. That I was tough, and a rebel—some kind of wild one. Instead, it just proved that I was being kind of a jerk. It didn’t play well with my new classmates, and I was soon ostracized by the entire community. I’m not kidding.
Students, teachers, and coaches alike, all stopped talking to me. It was jarring. Nobody wanted to talk to me. I wandered the halls for four months, more or less, without a soul saying anything kind to me. The only times I got to enjoy conversation was when a teacher needed me to answer a question. Other than that, they pretty much ignored me as well. It was kind of spooky.
Sound Advice
At home, my mom advised me to not worry about it: she said there was no point in trying to alter other people’s behavior towards you. All I could do was control who I wanted to be going forward. She told me to treat everyone right, say “hi” to everyone, do all my work, and eventually everyone will come around. It took a while, but after four months, people did, and my life has been blessed with incredible friendships ever since.
But after four months on Matt Island, something else happened to me. I no longer worried if people liked me, because I liked me. And I felt solid in that. I knew I didn’t like who I was when I tried to pretend to be something I wasn’t, and I liked who I was when I was being real, so there was just one simple resolution to make: to always tell the truth from then on.
That resolution made me feel strong. It made me self-assured and a better friend to people when they came back around—which they probably did because now I was a person that respected everyone and could be counted on. This modus operandi has become my personal crusade for lots of reasons. For one, it does feel better to live this way. Truly. Second, it’s the right thing to do of course. And third, always being straight up with people reduces my stress. I don’t worry about who I told what to because everything I say comes from a point of caring and trying to help, while telling no lies. The only exception to that is if the truth would be painful and unnecessary for someone to hear, I may lie by omission, but as a rule, I never fabricate.
Truth of the Matter
If I do nothing else with my life, I would want to know that I convinced at least one person to always tell the truth, because I know how much it’s done for me. Telling the truth doesn’t just reduce your own stress, but the stress of those around you. If we had a whole community built on trust, how wonderful would that be? Think of it. Trust breeds better mental and physical health. When you don’t have to spend your time wondering who your real friends are, you feel safer in your skin—free to be who you are and pursue what you love.
I’m not saying anything revolutionary here. Everyone knows this. The only point I’m making is that if you really feel truth-telling in your bones—if you adopt it as an ethos as opposed to sound advice to try and live by— I promise you will not only see a profound change in the belief you have in yourself, but also in the effect you have on others. Truth signifies caring and brings peace to both the truth-tellers and their recipients.
When You Have Nothing Else
After four months in isolation, people did finally come around. But I didn’t change after that. I didn’t revert. The experience of being ignored for so long on such a large scale had a huge impact on the course of my life. When you are alone—truly alone—you have to find a way to count on yourself and believe in yourself, and my decision to always tell the truth built me back up like nothing else. I consider it the purest minimalist point in my life because telling the truth was all I had.
Those were a hard four months. Having my community shun me and force me to make an honest examination of what I thought of myself, wasn’t fun, but it turned into one of the greatest blessings I’ve ever received. I wouldn’t wish that experience on anyone else, but then again, I kind of do. That’s the truth.