“Where does your family live?” the VP of Marketing inquired as my wife and I sat down for sushi while on a job interview for a new director role in Tennessee.
“California.” I blurted out.
They actually lived in Arizona, where my wife, daughter and myself currently reside. So why did California come out of my mouth?
I wanted the job. The opportunity had come about at a pivotal time in my life. I didn’t just want a new job, I needed one. I was miserable for the first time in my professional career. I was living in a state of regret after leaving my fortune 500 company of 12 years to take a job at a start up in order to move closer to family. The reason: our first daughter. Going from being a table of two, to a table with a highchair added was a big adjustment for the Rapp household. Things were not well on the homefront and the logical solution I deduced was for me to find a way to be home more to support my wife.
The start up offered less demanding hours and proximity to my family for additional support. So I made the decision and took my family on a journey from Florida to Arizona that we have jokingly likened to Moses’s forty years in the wilderness unable to cross into the promised land. Our wilderness? The literal desert of Arizona, in a job that I shouldn’t have taken, enduring a pay cut, all to be a little closer to help. And now, a year into the adventure, we were in a place my wife felt disconnected from me and I was under an unbearable weight clocking in at a toxic workplace environment. This job in Tennessee felt like a ticket into the unattainable promised land.
“California”, I said again confidently. My wife went along. The dinner ended and we walked to the car.
“California?” my wife questioned with good reason the moment the door shut.
“I know,” I commiserated with her.
On one hand, I have no idea why I said California. On the other hand, I know exactly why.
While taking part in the day-long interview, the VP had mentioned they had someone ready to go in their role a month before I interviewed when they learned that their new ‘would be’ director would be moving away from family while pregnant with their first child. The company felt moving an expecting family away from family was not setting anyone up for success and so they pulled the offer. The story hit hard as here I was, candidate number two, essentially doing the same thing.
I didn’t want the choice of my employment to be determined by moving towards or away from family. And so, in a snap judgment, when asked about the whereabouts of my family, I lied. I was trying to cling to this opportunity in every way possible, up to lying about the whereabouts of family to make me appear not tied down to our current home state.
But what would be the end goal here? Let’s say I got the job. How long could one continue the lie about my parents living in a different state? At some point it was bound to come out that I was taking time off to visit family over the holiday in… wait for it… Arizona. It was an impulse decision, made with surface logic without looking at the big picture.
Spoiler, I did not get the job. Maybe because of the lie. But the experience did get me wondering why we continue to again, and again, and again give into the tiny toxic habit of lying. Not news breaking, scandal laden lies but rather the small lies that often go unnoticed to all except to ourselves. Calling out sick from work when you’re not sick. Letting your wife know you didn’t see the bread she wanted at the store although you never checked for it. Nodding along in a conversation and agreeing when you don’t actually know the reference. Saying you’re a director at your company when you are really just a Sr. Manager. Me blurting out California.
Often the lie has occurred before we even realize what has happened in order to preserve our convenience in life. Small lies help us maintain an equilibrium of status quo. They enable us to avoid the tough conversation or the tough realities that we daily face.
Telling my wife I didn’t see the bread when I didn’t actually check saves me possible embarrassment that I, yet again, forgot to check. It saves me a possible uncomfortable dialogue with my wife about how I neglected to check. Calling in sick allows me to conveniently go about my life as I desire it without consequences for not showing up for work. Saying there was traffic when late to my appointment allows me to feel above reproach or at least excused for my tardiness. Agreeing in a conversation that you know something when you have no idea, to not have your intelligence come into question. Lying about my job title empowers me to save face at the college reunion, where everyone appears to be more successful than myself.
In a world built around drive-through windows and prime delivery, it is only logical that we will take every action to preserve our convenience-laden lives. I’m guilty of that myself. I’ll pay extra money for the convenience of early bird check in on my flight to save the convenience of having to set an alarm 24 hours before my flight to select my seat. Why will I shell out this extra $25 – $30 for each leg of my flight? Because conveniences matter to me. And the fact is, there is nothing wrong with pursuing conveniences. The pursuit of convenience is not wrong, but rather the cost it often requires of us. Each small lie for convenience, leads to a greater gap between us and truth. The most alarming consequence of each lie we tell is not in the lie itself but direct offense it is to truth. When we have built up ‘small lies’ to the point that we view them as ‘harmless’ we have ripped away the consequence of bigger lies. If we lie about the bread at the store to our wife today, what lie will we allow to her tomorrow. We don’t drift from truth overnight. We drift one small convenience at a time till we no longer even recognize the truth we started at.
My driver license says I’m 5’ 11’’. If you ask me how tall I am I would say 5’ 11’’. My wife would tell you I’m 5’ 11’’ but I’m really closer to 5’ 10 ½” but I’ve said it so much I’ve half forgotten my own height. The illusory truth effect supports this. It’s how we can convince ourselves of a truth by relating a lie so many times we begin to believe it. It could be harmless, like your height, but what are the lies that we have told ourselves for years that take us away from truth. The lie that going to my kids’ sports games but being on my phone does not take away from my presence of being there. The lie that the family never seems to get along so why get together, when you just rather not participate. The lie that your sports gambling addiction is totally in control and you only bet what you can afford to lose. The lies that are most paralyzing in our life are the ones that never leave our mouth. These silent thoughts alienate us and damage relationships more in order to secure our selfish conveniences. When we agree to sacrifice the thought of truth we empower the building of a false reality ultimately leading us on an unfulfilling and regretful path.
So how do we stop the lies both spoken and silent? When lying has become so instinctual and habitual, it’s no easier than shaking a nicotine addiction. We cannot stop lying, but we can relentlessly pursue the truth. Next time we reach for the Marlboro pack of lies for a hit, we can pause to take account of ourselves. Even if the cigarette is lit, we can choose to put it out. If we can close the gap between the instinctual lie and the honest repentance, we can shift our hearts closer back to truth to the point when truth has become habitual and we’ve accepted the minor inconveniences that come with it.
“Honey, I didn’t check for the bread, I’m sorry.”
“I’m running late, sorry. I have a late start getting out of the house today.”
“I actually don’t know that reference and what you are talking about, can you enlighten me?”
“My family does live in Arizona.”
Saying “California” was a small moment. But it illustrated for me something bigger: that I was far more willing to pursue and protect my comfort than pursue truth. The uncomfortable reality is that truth will always cost us something. But so do lies. The difference is, truth costs us in the moment. Lies cost us over time.
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