The best policy

As a child, I told lies. Not constantly, but often. I was quite fearful, and so I told lies to protect myself, to smooth away my mistakes and misdemeanours, and to make life easier on myself. Lies came easily to me, and in a way they still do. I’m naturally hesitant in telling people where I’ve been or what I’ve been doing, even if the truth is completely ordinary and innocuous.

But, whilst I am a little wary of complete candour and trust in others, as an adult truth is very important to me. Being able to be honest in my interactions and personal relationships with others is something I value hugely, and I am so much happier and more comfortable when I can speak truthfully. Not that the opposite of honesty is necessarily lies of course – more often silence, or simply not being true to ourselves and murmuring what others seem to want to hear.

Twice in the past few days I have been brave and so sought honesty where I might easily have shrunk from it. Both occasions it was hard, and both were ultimately wonderful. Two friendships, at very different stages, grew and were deepened by speaking honestly. And realising that I really could be honest was not fearful, but felt like freedom from fear: a boundless happiness in being able to speak from the heart.

I didn’t quite have the weekend I was hoping for. I was looking forward to meeting up with a sweet boy and forgetting about the working week listening to live Mexican rock in a noisy bar – but he cancelled at the last minute, which made me more miserable than it should have. The conversations and emails I exchanged were more than I’d hoped for and made me happy, but it was a bittersweet sweetness thinking of how the dearest and most remarkable people in my life are so far away, and another friend is soon to be gone. One of the hardest things about living here is all the goodbyes as people come and go – and the more awesome the times you’ve shared, the harder the goodbye.

On the other hand, I did finally realise my ambition to visit the witchcraft market in Mexico City. It was weird, fascinating, occasionally gruesome, and fantastic in every sense. And I ate rose petal pie in a fancy restaurant a short journey and a world away and felt decadent, like an ancient empress. And I played ping pong and made tea for friends and talked until late. No regrets.