Honesty can be a brutal tactic in interpersonal relationships. It often rings the death knell when employed in friendships or other close affiliations no matter how long-standing or steadfast we may perceive them as being.
Being honest requires a certain bravado and a controlled ability to step apart from sentiment and sympathy, as well as removed from all subjective attachment to a desired outcome.
This runs counter to our sacred perception of intimate relationships as being safe havens of mutual respect and unconditional support where the first rule is to make each other happy.
That is simply not possible if you throw complete honesty into the mix.
Think about it. While we might appreciate a friend's partial honesty in telling us that we've exited the restroom at a fine restaurant with a white streamer of toilet paper cascading down the back of our Eskandar skirt, we are not necessarily grateful to learn that an entire table of businessmen were pointing at us and snickering as we passed by.
There are just some layers of truth we don't really need to know.
Elderly people are noted for being unflinchingly honest; they've outlived the meat of the game and are no longer dependent upon the judgements of others in order to survive. We expect them to finally capitalize on all those years of experience by giving us the bottom line.
Accepting the honest counsel from the elderly may require the same conscious vetting as it would coming from anyone else, but it never seems to sting as much.
Old Aunt Gert can reveal to us something about ourselves that coming from a close friend might make us reconsider our decision to quit drinking.
Perhaps it is because we can say to ourselves that Aunt Gert is so old she no longer hits all four cylinders after ignition and, therefore, any unwelcome remark can be easily chalked up to approaching senility. We can reason our escape through those gapping moth holes in the fabric of her fading mind.
But what of the friend who has always been a wellspring of comfort and support yet who now suddenly takes issue with the very things you hold dear?
That is when you have to pull out the big guns of philosophical thought and learn to differentiate between the honesty of truth and the honesty of opinion.
Sometimes you may have to walk away.
I have finally come to understand that love bent around a discerning movement of gracious withdrawal is often more an act of kindness than is a benevolent drizzle of loyalty to an unworthy constituent of the larger tribe.
You don't do yourself or anyone else any favors by feigning admiration when there is none or accepting camaraderie when you suspect it is fraudulent. This does not imply ill-will. It simply suggests that moving on would be best.
Don't give trouble enough time to find you.
I will say that with age, retrospection appears to hold forth the most promise for detecting truth than does the strategic anticipation we were so keen on in our youth.
But it is not easy. The idea of mining the past for gems of wisdom we might have missed can seem extraordinarily taxing and disquieting; especially if our discoveries yield a mistake or two, or ten.
But truth and honesty are particles of wisdom, and there are no short cuts to that end. Attempting to circumvent the laborious process results in half-truths, which can lead you toward greater difficulties.
It is somewhat like learning that the use of oars is an excellent way to navigate the ocean without understanding that they work only if you are in a boat.
Just because you have both of your oars in the water, it is not necessarily an indication that you know what you are doing.
Honestly.
