Honestly Sincere

When I was in fourth grade, I wanted to be Harriet the Spy. For those of you unfamiliar with the character, she was a young girl who kept journals of everything she encountered because of her desire to be a writer. She watched people whenever she could, and she wrote down her observations in a harshly opinionated manner. Of course, eventually, her secrets got out. Her journal winds up in the hands of her peers, who were quite rightly furious. She inadvertently attacked every one of her classmates with her honesty. They formed an alliance against her, and made her life miserable. Eventually, they forgave her, but it was a painful journey.

Now, don’t get the wrong idea from that. I’m not sick. I didn’t want to be Harriet because of this friendless, isolated, and tormented existence (although I think I identified with her because of it). I wanted to be able to experience the world as she did. I’ve always had a lively imagination, a love of writing, and a strong sense of curiosity (some would call it being nosy; it’s a subtle distinction, along the lines of whether I’m gullible or trusting… “curious & trusting” is far preferable to “nosy & gullible”). What I didn’t have was her boldness and her courage. For example, she hid in a dumbwaiter in order to get a closer peek into the life an eccentric rich woman. That takes guts.

There is one other thing that I have in common with Harriet. My honesty has a way of getting me into trouble. It’s been happening a great deal recently. I hurt one friend because I was too blunt with my words, and came off sounding like a nasty person who was lecturing her (that was today, actually). I hurt a relationship because I gave a friend information that he would’ve rather not known. I hurt another friendship because I shared something about myself that he wasn’t ready to handle. And I’ve hurt myself by saying the things I’m thinking, when it would be far better for me if they remained thoughts.

I’ve been in awkward situations more than once because I told one of my male friends that I had a crush on him (I used to carry around a card in my wallet that said “Never Fall in Love with Your Guy Friends.” I kept it for years, until I actually started dating one of my guy friends. I don’t know what happened to it after that). That ended up failing particularly badly in the instance when the male in question was dating my best friend (I was in middle school. And I had a crush on him long before she did. She was just the one with enough Harriet-the-Spy gusto to ask him out).

I manage to hurt myself and others with my honest nature more often than you’d think. I embody the antithesis to the adage “honesty is the best policy.” It’s not true. Silence is the best policy. If you can’t be silent, then omission is a good way to go. And if you can’t omit, then as a last resort you should go with honesty. Lying almost never works out (if you don’t believe me, rent a season of Seinfeld, Friends, Frasier, or any other 1990s sitcom, and I’m sure you’ll see a multitude of fictional examples that will back me up. You can learn a lot from watching characters fail miserably), so it’s best to avoid it all together.

I would also like to quote the character of Cal from the movie The 40 Year Old Virgin on this matter: “Yeah, you should definitely tell her, because I saw this movie called Liar, Liar, and the message was ‘don’t lie.’ And that was a smart movie.”

Another reason I’m honest is because I’m a lousy liar. No one believes me when I say that (it does sound like the sort of thing a habitual liar would say), but it’s sadly true. And for an actor, I’m extraordinarily horrible (I mention this only because people use the fact that I’m an actor as some sort of proof that I must be an expert in the field of lying. It’s completely different from being in character. The two really have nothing to do with each other). I wear my emotions on my face, and it’s very easy to figure out that there’s something going on.

I have recently discovered that my most successful poker face is a smile, as I have a tendency to smile through many different emotions. I smile when I’m frustrated. I smile when I’m happy. When I’m frightened, I smile. When I’m relieved, I smile. I smile when I’m pissed as hell at you. I smile when I’m about to cry. I smile when I’m offended (when I’m extremely offended, I start to laugh… Don’t ask me why. Beats me). I smile buckets full when I’m really depressed (so far only one person has been able to see through the smile-mask and ask me what was wrong, and he only did it once. I think I broke down into hysterical sobbing as soon as he asked). And I smile when I’m lying (or omitting). See? It’s the perfect poker face (just like Kenneth on 30 Rock). Okay, so not perfect. I have a lot of different smiles. If you were to pay attention, you’d probably be able to sort out which is which.

Anyway. Since I am learning that I would benefit from holding my tongue more, I’m attempting to do just that. I’ve started censoring myself to prevent undesirable effects from occurring. While I’m still figuring it out, it makes for some strange conversations. I’ll often start to say something, then think the better of it and cut myself off mid-sentence. Of course, all that serves to do is intrigue whomever I’m speaking with and make them think that what I was about to say was incredibly important. Or they take it as some sort of challenge to discover what I’d both spurred and stopped. Often, it’s just something that I’ve determined, after consideration, doesn’t need to be said. Sometimes I decide that it would be less embarrassing for me not to say it. Or, after thinking too much about it, I worry that there could be some other potential negative consequence that might result from it. If ever you are engaged in such a conversation with me, just know that if I’ve stopped saying something, it’s probably for the best. And try not to get offended.

Another trick I’ve learned is to be able to blame honesty on something else, such as a “bad day” or “lack of sleep”. I find that alcohol is particularly good for this. I’m not much of a drinker, so I only recently discovered something that most of my peers have known for quite some time: drinking is a fantastic excuse. Seriously. It’s hard to come up with something else that’s an equivalent cure-all for bad social situations. That stupid thing you said last night? You’d been drinking. Calling your ex to find out why he dumped you? You were obviously drunk. Trying to proposition your friend? You don’t remember it because you were so wasted.

I’ve only used the alcohol thing a couple of times. Like when I tried to tell a friend to break up with a significant other… The next day it was a non-issue. The friend didn’t seem to remember it, and I figured if it ever came up in conversation I would chalk up my actions to the Stoli-and-Sevens I’d had immediately prior to our chat.

Alcohol has certainly facilitated some important discussions in my life, though. I wasn’t anywhere near drunk, mind you. But somehow, when both you and the person you’re talking with have it in your system, alcohol makes conversations more acceptable. A recent exchange I had was one I would’ve been comfortable having sober, but the person I was speaking with needed a few beers before the possibly offensive subject was broached. Thank you, beer, for being the excuse we needed to get that topic off the ground.

I’m willing to have a lot of strange conversations without any aid, though. In fact, I ask people things on a regular basis that they’re not comfortable with, mostly because I’m too naïve to know that I shouldn’t be asking them. Like in a recent phone call to a male friend when I asked what sort of underwear he preferred. Despite his generally forthcoming nature, he seemed flustered for a good fifteen seconds out of sheer surprise that I had asked him something of that nature so casually. I didn’t understand what the problem was… I was just curious/nosy/being a good spy.

The flip side of this is that I’m willing to answer most questions without getting too self-conscious. I have recently responded to questions that are EXTREMELY personal. I won’t be doing that in this blog (there are some things about myself that I just don’t want on the internet). But I understand curiosity. And I’d rather be asked and answer than volunteer information that might prove awkward. It’s easier to share things if they are prompted by another action or solicited by a pointed question.

There are some things, though, that I don’t share. They’re the sorts of things that don’t come up in daily chats, and that I would never go out of my way to bring them up. And so today, I mailed them to Post Secret. I mailed four postcards. One of them I made over a year ago. Two I made in February. I made the final one a couple of days ago. And I finally decided it was time to mail them. I doubt any of them will get put online, but I know that the guy who does Post Secret does exhibits at museums on occasion. I like to think that someday, somewhere, someone out there might end up reading these things that I hold so close. Does that make me some warped form of exhibitionist? I hope not. It’s more like a Dear Mr. Henshaw thing (see previous blog entry).

Back to the problems with my honesty… A friend pointed out to me today that I meddle. This is true. It’s part of that Savior Complex I mentioned previously. I tell people exactly what I think they should do (just another form of being too honest). I feel like people will be better off if I’m there to help facilitate the right sorts of events in their lives. Like Dolly Levi (please tell me you’ve seen “Hello, Dolly!”), “I put my hand in there.”

A friend of mine once said she wanted a job as a “professional realist.” She thought that she should be paid to help stage interventions involving people who were not seeing the world in a rational way. She could tell a screechy tone-deaf girl that she’ll never be a jazz singer, and that she should keep her day job. She could tell the guy who spends all his time playing video games that he’s 32 years old and it’s time to move out of his parents’ basement and get a job. That sort of thing. And frankly, she’d be rather good at it. If she were to tell me that I am wasting my time writing blog entries, I might just listen.

Maybe that’s the sort of job I should get as well. I’d be able to put all this truth-telling and hip-shooting to good use. Until I find a dream job such as this, I’m going to continue to censor, consider, and reconsider some of the things I say before I say them (well, more realistically, as I say them. I’ll learn eventually).

May your days be filled with comfortable silence.

Sincerely,

~A~

P.S. Yes, the title is a Bye, Bye Birdie! reference, and you win points with me if you caught that.