On lying

After a coffee talk last night, I saw an interesting Greenland movie (having the balcony all to myself is the only way to fly!!!!) , but thorough the whole plot (maybe, because Greenlanders don’t seem to really use a lot of verbal communication), I kept thinking about what came up during the dialogue: why do people lie about themselves? Not TO themselves. About themselves.

I never got that.

Okay. I understand someone would lie about someone else. You know, weasely, conniving stuff to get yourself ahead. That’s just petty malice. It comes with the default of being a social human. Or why someone would lie at their job. Fuck it, just bullshit through it and take what you can get. Even I did that when they asked me if I can ride a moped. That wasn’t even a lie, it was a temporally dislodged information. I even think I understand why someone would want to keep certain things to themselves, intimate things, like health things or emotional stuff. It’s why the word ‘fine’ was globally adopted as a short version of ‘mind your own fucking business’.

But why would people lie about themselves?

Years later, I would learn from various new acquaintances my first husband did that. He lied all the time. It’s all he ever did, now that I put the pieces together. Not that it made a difference at the time. I just wouldn’t have guessed he felt the need for it. I thought he was kind of cool ... said she, before she ran into a closed door, banged her head and woke up. Not saying actual stuff – but lying to promote himself. And his mom, fuck, but I really don’t want to waste another drop of ink on that issue. My sister, as I notice, does the same. I mean, why would anyone need to lie about how much money they make or their work or their relationship? NOBODY I know right now makes a lot of money. Nobody I know has their dream job (that would actually pay more than a glorified hobby). Every relationships, from the best to the worst of marriages, have bile throw-ups from time to time, some of which I often find liberating to debate upon. If you don’t want to talk about it, then don’t bring it up. But inventing downright lies to make yourself seem … I d.... wha, worthy? Impressive? Interesting? I just don’t get it.

If you are ashamed of what you are or what you are doing it, then why do you do it? Why would you lie about not having a job? I don’t have a job. Doesn’t mean I don’t work. I try. I am grateful for every cent the General brings home to support my crazy earning pattern (sometimes nothing for a year, sometimes I take over the reins of the bread bringer, but these things you never can predict). Never in a million years would I be ashamed of being unemployed. Of whom I love. Of what my pet can or cannot do. Or lie about it. What the fuck would I say? What would impress strangers more than the truth?

Guess it’s a talent only true sociopath possess. The understanding of this particular conundrum.