"I can’t think of anything I’d ever lie about." Silence. "Okay, that was a lie. I’m embarrassed to say." More silence. "Okay, I lied to Jeb about what I got on my SATs, and instead of saying ‘Barnard College,’ I say ‘Columbia University.’"
I have lied about my intelligence because it’s the one thing I’ve ever really been insecure about. “Have you read this book? No? Okay, what about this… you had to have read this!” Um, no. “How can you not know who he is? He’s so famous!” I get tired of answering, “no.” So eventually, I’ll throw in a “sure,” just to forgo the lecture. A lie. Then I’ll write it down and try to read it, but chances are, I won’t.
Deep down, I question my intelligence. I can watch an entire row of Jeopardy questions and hear all their answers. Ask me those same questions ten minutes later, and I will maybe know the answer to one of them. My brain just doesn’t have room for trivia, unless it’s about food. Ask me to birth a creative idea, and I’m brilliant. To express a new idea, to find new in something old… I can do all of that. But if you ask me to attend trivia night, you ought to assume all I do is watch chick flicks and live in my own little world. Then you’d be really smart… because that’s pretty much dead on balls accurate. See, here’s the thing… trivia goes in one ear and out the other. I don’t care about it. Excite me, and I become voracious, snacking on facts and ideas, new ways of thinking, of seeing things. If, however, you want to know what’s going on in the world, stick to CNN. I have no clue. Yes, I want to have a clue; and I do care. I realize there’s a world of love and grief out there, that I can make a difference in it. It’s not that I don’t care, but I’m busy consumed with other things. I’m completely self-centered. So there you have it, me with my defenses down.
Why do you lie? And, do you think you could go an entire week without telling one lie? Lying by omission counts.