David Foster Wallace once wrote, “The truth will set you free. But not until it’s finished with you.”
And since I’m a DFW bro and feminine-coded apologist … of course I love him for that.
Sure, I’ve been [I think reasonably] informed by the idea that men like him are often caught in their labyrinthian self-absorption and that an obsession with thought and thinking about their own thoughts undoubtedly bleeds itself into the work — howeverrrr …
DFW remains a poignant messenger with a talent for relaying piercing, universal truths meant to be digested with simplicity but after-tasted with a certain dose of complexity (e.g. “Everything I ever let go of has claw marks on it.”)
When I think about truth I think about how much we hold back our feelings and how, typically, the only safe space for authenticity is a two-hour-long conversation with your friend about some REALLY FRUSTRATING person or thing and how dare they/it make you feel that way, you know?
Of course, the question remains: did you … tell them how you felt?
Well … no :/
But why? Why wouldn't you share your feelings? If this has been building up in you and if you find yourself facing it head-on via various discouraging confrontations, then why would you refuse to discuss your concerns?
I think this is the case for the most complex and long-standing relationships like those with your parents to the most petty or seemingly surface level like those with your coworkers.
And you can forget about romantic relationships because who wants to admit to any burgeoning resentment when you can just easily and quickly send a petulant, passive-aggressive text like, “Thanks for checking in on me :)” when you were deathly sick for days?
Because, and here’s where our DFW brosef comes back into play: I think it’s hard to face the deeper reason (or various reasons) you don't want to share with whoever is on the other end of that line, depending on the dynamic, depending on the potential consequences.
It’s hard because of what it might have to “finish” in you, depending on the dynamic, depending on the potential consequences.
In other words … what kind of mileage do you get out of keeping the truth at bay? What kind of negative pleasure comes from covertly complaining to your friend about a troublesome dynamic with a person but never confronting the person yourself? And then getting mad at them when they don’t read your mind or take your hints?
What sort of leverage develops from staying stuck in a narrative of lies or presumptions about What the Other Person is Thinking or Feeling versus attending to The Thing directly? What kind of comfortable (yet ultimately regressive) relationship evolves out of incessant avoidance?
Moreover, being honest with yourself about how you really feel about somewhere, someone, something, and moving forward accordingly can bring up a lot of fear because, I suppose, of what you would have to deal with. What would it mean to accept the truth and then drop it?
The fear always seems to lie in what could be lost when Truth is acknowledged. Maybe it’s the death of a relationship or jeopardizing your career or no longer getting help from someone you trust. Maybe, in the most annoying yet somehow deeply gutting of cases, it’s a family member’s knowing, punishing glance that somehow brings you to your infantilized knees in an instant.
More often than not, though, I think it’s the fear of the possibility of those things.
And fear can only stay fed on an unknown perceived known (that usually involves a loss of some kind) while an unknown unknown may open doors and bring something into being that’s begging to be realized — if only the truth were finally faced.
There is, of course, the visceral discomfort in the process of telling the truth or being brutally honest; but once it’s done, there’s a certain freedom and relief. I know because I’ve experienced it. You probably have, before, too.
This is one of my goals in the new year, I think: Brutal Honesty 2024. No ghosting. No indirect “hints.” No passive-aggressive stares. No skirting around the edges of my own precarious sadness. Just “I feel” and “I think” and “I know.”
You know, the active stuff. The stuff to finish you.