To tell you the truth…

Ok, first and foremost I have no idea what truth is. Honestly. I lie all the time. Pretty much from the time I get up to the time I go to sleep. And for all I know, I lie while I’m sleeping. I’m sure I would lie if you could talk to me while sleeping, anyway.

My partner Bob never lies. I wish he did sometimes. Like, one time I was lamenting over how beautiful one of my friends was even though she was two years older than me. Bob said, “Well, Jess she’s Hawaiian and those women are very beautiful for a very long time. You come from a different genetic line, that’s all. Your family is east european Jew. So, you’re . . . sturdy.”

Is it any wonder Bob doesn’t have much luck in singles’ bars? He’s so good with the pick-up lines. When he was in 4th grade, he gave a Valentine’s day card to a little girl which read, “You’re a really nice person. If only you weren’t so negative all the time.” Believe me this is not the man you want to ask, “Does this make my butt look fat?”

Me, I lie. I lie to my kids. I lie to myself. And mostly, I lie not out of any altruistic motive. It’s mostly out of laziness. It’s easier to tell my boss at work that I have a doctor’s appointment than to say I just want to run personal errands. It’s easier to say I have to shut my door at the office because I have a confidential phone call to make than to say it’s simply because I don’t want to talk to you. It’s easier to say that I don’t have time to go to yoga class than to say I don’t want to get off the couch during Animal Planet (my favorite network EVER!). It’s easier to tell my doctor I’ll be compliant with my medication rather than saying, ” I really have no intention of coming back for that lab test.” It’s easier to tell my therapist I’ll work on my “Inability to express emotions” than to say, “I would rather eat dirt than put myself through all those f-’ed up feelings.” It’s easier for me to fake another call on the line than to tell my friend that I don’t give a rat’s ass about her recent trip to the mall.

My yoga practice isn’t any more honest. I act all peaceful and serene when I sit on the mat, but what I didn’t tell you is how I flipped off that driver on Broadway a few seconds ago because I was running late and he wouldn’t move his stupid car fast enough. Or I don’t tell you how I’ve secretly been hating you because you are able to do 1000 sun salutations without breaking a sweat and I can’t even do three without looking like I just got out of the shower. Or I don’t tell you that I strategically plan my bathroom trips during the parts of the class where there is a ton of plank pose which I can’t hold worth crap (oh yeah, I really do that). Or that during the morning classes, there is coffee in my water bottle and not water (Thank you Starbucks–they’ll put coffee in anything).

And just so you don’t feel bad, I lie to myself even more. I tell myself I am super-duper important at my job and that they would all fall apart without me. I tell myself I am always caring and dependable (try telling that to my cat who has been waiting three hours to be fed). Or that I am always hard working (as I surf Facebook while sitting at my desk). My favorite lie is when I pretend that a Chipotle burrito really has only 200 calories instead of 1200. Or that I would have shown up at that meeting for the academic information instead of for the donuts they are having. Or when I claim to be a vegetarian as I eat a combination pizza (but God gets me back for that through my digestive tract every time).

I try not to lie about the big stuff. I try to tell my children the real reason their goldfish is gone. I try to tell my friend that I think her boyfriend of ten years really won’t commit (Or else, for God’s sake, he would have done it by now). Sometimes I have to temper the truth. Like when a client asks me, “when will the pain end?” or my child asks “why doesn’t so-and-so like me at school?”

I always think of Daniel Pearl. He was a Wall Street Reporter who was kidnapped and murdered by Islamic fundementalists. There was a video tape that showed his captors slashing his throat in front of the cameras. Before he died, Pearl was asked if he was a Jew, and he reportedly looked at the screen and said, “I am a Jew, and my father is Jewish,” after which those holding him carried out their shocking assault.  And, conversely, I think of a story about a man several years ago on a Brooklyn subway.  Someone wished him Merry Christmas, to which he responded, “Happy Hanukkah.”  The first man began tormenting him for being Jewish and started hitting him.  No one on that subway said a word except one man– who was a Muslim.  The Muslim man, too, was beaten severely.  And for those of you unfamiliar with subways in Brooklyn, I know there were tons of other Jews on that train.

Now that, my friends, is truth. Truth like few of us have ever been confronted with. And I ask myself: Would I have done the same thing? When it really counts, I mean really counts, would I have the courage to be truthful? It’s a good question. I always hope I would be able to be like Daniel Pearl– if I were confronted with owning up before God and the world who I am even if it meant my death.

And each time I get on the yoga mat, I have short periods of time where I am that truthful, and I own up to God and the world who I am even if it means the death of the illusion of who I think I am or mean to be.