I'm dishonest about my flaws when it comes to people I care about. I'll tell them the hard things about themselves but I won't tell them the hard things about myself—at least not the things I'm actually ashamed of. I tell people I'm tired of games but I play a game where I'm the "real one" and they're the ones still performing. I tell people I value honesty but I'm selective about which truths I actually voice.

The uncomfortable part? I think I do this because honesty makes me feel superior. If I'm the honest one and you're the fake one, then I'm better. And that's just a different kind of lie. It's a lie wrapped in the language of authenticity.

So I'm sitting with this and asking myself: Where am I still performing, just under the guise of being "real"? Where am I lying about my own honesty? Because if real magic comes from being genuine, then I have to include my own phoniness in that genuineness. I have to admit that I'm not the enlightened truth-teller I imagine myself to be.

The hardest honesty isn't saying the difficult thing out loud—it's admitting when you're wrong about yourself. It's saying "I thought I was this kind of person but I'm not." It's sitting in the shame of realizing you've been subtly dishonest while congratulating yourself for being honest. 💫

This is the honesty that actually costs something. Not the kind where you tell someone their new haircut doesn't suit them. But the kind where you look in the mirror and say "I've been lying too, just in a different way." And then you don't get to feel superior anymore. You just get to be human. 🤍

How many lies have I told myself while believing I was telling the truth?