With Blinds Wide Open. On Living Candidly

20140826_092737Every summer day, I stare over my sink at my neighbor’s garden shaded by four four-story oaks and surrounded by eclectically painted houses. Beautiful. From my living room chair one can see only leaves leaves leaves. If I showed you this window only, you may think we live in a romantic tree house loft.

20140826_104009_20141124230409066But if you look only out my side window, at the fiberglass guts spilling out of the half-painted, plywood-plated, rusty abandoned hazard next door, you may pin me on Skid Row and cock your ear to listen for gunshots.

If I invite you for tea, I can choose my conversation topics like I choose which window to open. I can close certain curtains and reveal the rear window only; I can highlight my pleasant attributes and admirable habits while minimizing my flaws and failures. But I don’t. Instead, I figuratively open the blinds and live candidly. It’s not always pretty and it’s not always intentional.

I am a compulsive truth-teller. Even when I prep myself before my doorbell rings to not divulge something, I still can’t contain it. I don’t merely answer questions honestly; I volunteer the latest mistake or embarrassing story that my company was not even wondering about. Confessions fly out before I can grab them. I have wrecked many a first impression due to this habit. It can get embarrassing.

“Welcome. I have been cleaning like crazy all morning so you wouldn’t know how messy my house was.”

“I’m wearing a bandanna because I didn’t want you to see my unwashed hair.”

“I think I idolize quiet time. That’s probably why I wasn’t as kind to the kids this morning.”

“I skimmed today’s chapter.”

“The brownies are from a box mix.”

“I was journaling this morning about how manipulative and lazy and ungrateful I am often tempted to be… Wanna, uh, talk about that?  Wanna talk to me at all?”

Call it a reverse trust-issue. Call it immoderacy. Call it sincerity. I can’t put my finger on it, but I think such unreserved confabbing actually proves more helpful than harmful. Because flaunting the pleasant and leaving the less attractive less broadcasted does not fulfill our goal of encouraging one another; it just promotes disheartening comparison.

I love Shauna Neiquist’s suggestion to, when a friend comes over, graciously leave the laundry piled on the couch or  don’t wear makeup. These acts declare, “I am imperfect” and vulnerable, so you can be vulnerable too. Comfort. Calm.

 

I’m not suggesting we air all of our ultra personal dirty laundry in mixed-audience public forums. Wasn’t it also Shauna who joked about yelling to a friend across the crowded church foyer, “Hi! How are you?! My rash is back!” Awkward. No, facebook’s status bar’s, “What’s on your mind?” is not an invitation to disclose discord in your family on the internet. Okay sure, go ahead and tuck that noodle neatly into the bowl before snapping your foodie insta-pin. But believe that you are not alive to perform.

I am not alive to perform. I have to remind myself aloud, “Make her feel loved, not entertained.” Because authenticity is not just beneficial to the friends we are meant to encourage, it is important for our own hearts, humility, courage and development.  We need honesty and openness in our lives.

 

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