HONESTY. the best policy? absolutely. always pretty? don’t count on it.
which is why i tend to believe that the Ugly Truth falls into two diametric categories: required (when it concerns the person in the conversation) and taboo (when it doesn’t).
like when a genuine response to a casual inquiry is, quite simply, a downer. after all, what unsuspecting friendly acquaintance wants an awkward wah-waaaah reply to their greeting? best to put on a happy face.
i feel this way when it comes to writing, too. a while back i read this tweet:
“anyone can write about their darkness and be considered a brave writer for doing so. very few can write joy bravely.”
i disagree. wholeheartedly.
joyful topics flow freely from my keyboard and are a delight to share. the Love of Laughter series is my favorite to write. (and re-read. and laugh at, of course.)
dismal subjects, however, may evoke plenty of written response from me, but nothing that i would ever want to burden an unwitting audience with. it feels selfish to unleash gloom on someone’s otherwise pleasant day.
my darkness remains in the dark, published under a password that no one is privy to.
the sad thing is, while there is certainly joy amidst the sorrow—and those moments come without fail every day—the happy bits seem to get overshadowed when i get contemplative. when i write. and so my feed is silent.
it’s been six months today. so while i continue struggling to wrap my brain around the reality of it, i’m going to give the Ugly Truth a try. and i’m going to bring the joyful pieces to the front—on purpose—when i feel the need to empty words out of my head in writing. for the good of everyone involved.
*photo by haleigh russell