on telling a lie.

i came home tonight to quiet. my apartment is always quiet, but tonight i let myself feel it. this is the only night this week i have nothing happening/nowhere to be. i'm not used to that feeling. in reality i do have things to do, i always do: articles to finish, books to read, miles to run, but tonight, with looming rain, i'm pausing. 

i stood in my kitchen while cooking myself dinner and caught myself smiling. quiet, this is quiet. this is how it feels to stop and not rush.

this morning my friend latrease said something  else that forced me to stop, literally. we had made plans to volunteer at the printer's row book fair next month and after politely hounding the coordinator it didn't look like we'd be paired together. we've volunteered here in years past and we wanted to do that again. i always have fun with that girl, whether it's in my kitchen or dancing at a club at 2 in the morning. after about a dozen emails between latrease, myself, and the coordinator, i threw my hands up and just said, "let's make up an excuse and email the woman." 

i felt bad about this. i don't like lying. 

she almost immediately responded with, "rhi, we don't have to lie. we can tell her the truth: that we changed our minds and we will try again next year."

reading those words felt both freeing and guilt-inducing. 

i had this believable story: i had a family party i had the wrong date for and could no longer volunteer. latrease shut me down.

"i can say that...i forgot my wedding was on that date. maybe that i'm allergic to the rain, and i feel rain in the forecast?"

point taken.

she went on to say, "i was laughing when i wrote those. i hope you laughed when you read them. but as a friend, i want you to try telling the truth as much as you can, even the little white lies...tell the truth...good, bad or ugly. and definitely tell the truth to yourself, always. you will feel better, i promise, and stronger. i learned that from oprah's life class."

oprah. oprah until the day i die.

tell the truth: i came home tonight and watched old, old episodes of real housewives of nyc. i had two (three) rosemary chicken pita pizzas on 90-calorie tortillas. soundtrack to my week: the lumineers, any and everything country. and adele. always adele.  

i was happier at the white sox game last night than i've been in a long time. sitting in that seat, in a park i grew up in, combined with the article i'm writing on women sports writers, all of it is doing something to me. i'm grateful. and i'm paying attention.

spending all day saturday with my best friend made a stressful situation easy. lingering over coffee in a diner helped me relax. catching up and feeling loved helped me relax.

the whole point of therapy is to be honest with myself, to face things i've buried my entire life. things i've lied about to others, things i've lied about to myself. 

you will feel better, i promise, and stronger. she's right. i always feel better after seeing jim.  i always feel stronger after writing about the things that keep me from sleeping at night, the things that make me tense my body on the train or in the shower. it's always the quiet moments of life when the universe is giving us signs. the things that we can't shake and can't ignore are signs. everything is a sign. pay attention.