To Be Honest About Misery (Or To Pretend It’s All Okay?)

I’m tired, so I’ll try to be efficient with how I lay out my dilemma.

How should we handle tragedy? Should we embrace it and speak it, or should we keep it to ourselves?

I’ve never liked keeping it private. In my younger years I always thought, because I was told, that honesty is the best policy. If someone asked me how I was doing, I’d tell them frankly whether I was good, bad or indifferent. Staring down the barrel always seemed like the most honorable behavior. I recall losing my first real job opportunity coming out of college for this reason. I asked the man who helped set it up, and he put his head down as he could hardly bring himself to tell me: “They said you were a complainer.” Well! They fucking asked! Not only did they ask, they basically interrogated me about my personal life. The man pried and seemed to very much enjoy my honesty in the moment, and we carried on a very human and intimate conversation throughout the day. The passive aggressive betrayal was unexpected and a lesson I carried with me throughout life from that moment forward: Keep your fucking mouth shut.

It always bothered me, and here I’m going to sound like Holden from Catcher in the Rye, when people would laugh a hundred times harder than a given situation warranted. When they’d smile from ear to ear, and only project positivity. I never bought it. I don’t think I believed that people could just genuinely be that happy, so I automatically assumed it was disingenuous. Also though, I think it was. But I think that’s the difference between how I grew up, and how certain families raised their children. I discovered that many people were taught to bring light with them everywhere they go. That’s a bit revelatory for someone who prides themselves in always being brutally truthful — I remember even having written a story about a family who lost their mother — I was being honest about the tragedy that surrounds us in the world. “No one wants to here that shit all the time!” My friend’s mother said to me. I’d really pissed her off! In fact, I’d reminded her of her own tragedy. A tragedy that once she started thinking about, was difficult to forget.

All because I was so insistent upon honesty.

So I don’t know how to reconcile this issue. I don’t think pretending to be happy like an idiot all of the time is great, or flattering. And when I observe it, the wolf in me immediately spots the vulnerabilities in the person doing it, even if they’re well intentioned — they’re hiding, clinging to a — lie?

Is it a lie to reframe reality as something positive? Or is that our job? Is that what leaders do? In our moments of pain, don’t we absolutely love the people who are able to help us through the hardship with a smile? If we say it’s not that bad, doesn’t something happen? Reality shifts, and things tend to really feel… not that bad.

I think this is the core issue I struggle with beyond anything else. I am a living example of the physical and mental impact of long-term negative thinking. It has wreaked havoc on me, BUT! I am a champion of the truth. Can we face the truth with sober eyes while also not letting it destroy us? Can we laugh at our own misery? This is my ethos.

Enjoy the absurdity.

Good Evening.