Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me the truth – Henry David Thoreau

Over the course of my life, I’ve come to understand and value the importance of truth in my life, for its own sake, and for the sake of my dignity, identity, mental health and my idea of moral life.

As one who could not face the truth, or even fully comprehend what it was, this has been one of the more important, difficult,  and productive lessons of my life.

Telling the truth to myself and to others and taking responsibility for the worst parts of myself has enabled me to live more fully and meaningfully – and morally – than I ever hoped for.

And I am a long way from there, I am far from being done.

Truth, like love, like patriotism, is one of those words tossed about so often and so casually that they have almost lost their meaning. My heart goes out to people who lie to themselves or others, I think they must hate themselves and sleep the most awful sleep.

Truth is controversial, frightening, cruel at times. But I love having no secrets to hide, no long list of things to remember.

When I tell myself I am telling the truth, I almost always offend or upset someone, even when I am clear and certain, right or wrong.

For me, truth is becoming instinctive,  a matter of survival now, of dignity and self-worth. It is how I define myself, not as an angel or a saint, but as a person who tells the truth to myself, and hopefully to others.

I can tell you that if you tell the truth, you will lose friends, upset family and make many people uncomfortable.

Over the years writing on my blog, nothing has surprised me more than the number of people who write to me or message me to tell me what it is I should be writing or saying.

In my lifetime of writing, I have never told another human what he or she should be writing or saying or feeling, even when I don’t like what they are writing or saying.

Sometimes I’m wrong, sometimes I overreact, sometimes I succumb to anger or righteousness, I am not, in fact, looking for sainthood, I am so very human. But since I’ve never told anyone else what they should be saying or what words they should use, I have never quite understood it or know how to respond.

So I respond as honestly and as I can.

This has been very good for me, life-saving I think.

Telling the truth has helped me be stronger, grow my blog, earn people’s trust, be more honest, do more good and be clearer in my thoughts and arguments than I ever was.

Everything is relative. When I listen to the debates in the British Parliament, as I love to do sometimes, I realize what a wimp and a sissy I really am.

The other day I got into an online back-and-forth about our use of Amazon Wish Lists for the Mansion and the refugees, an incredibly successful tool for helping people, perhaps the most successful ever in my experience. One reader thought it was wrong to patronize Amazon, which he said treated its employees in a “horrific way.”

I was scolded by a long-time reader, an intelligent and supportive woman.

She said of my message that it  “felt mean spirited in tone…” and that it came at a critic in a way that didn’t seem to move the conversation.”

As a “long-time reader and supporter… I understand the frustration. But sometimes it feels like you are doing the very thing that you do not like – scolding, making your position more correct and the other person wrong for their beliefs.”

Thoughtful comments and said in a civil way. I’m not writing this to argue with her, or even to disagree. She has the right to her say too.

I’ve heard this argument before, and my idea about criticism is that it is always true, at least to the person making it, and I can always learn from it and benefit from it. I don’t need for people to agree with me, and anyone in power in any form should be open to criticism and challenge.

I have no idea if this scolder of me is right and wrong, I’m not in a position to judge.  What I felt when I read her comments was that I was telling the truth. I was saying what I felt and believed. It might be right and it might be wrong, but it was the truth and it was what I felt, as I felt it and understood it.

To hide what I feel is, to me, just another lie.

I’m glad she felt comfortable enough to say what she said to me.

But I don’t buy it. I’m sure what I wrote could have been better, or more carefully expressed. But I like what I said. It was what I felt, and still feel.

The odd thing is that I have been a student of morality and moral conduct all of my life. I even took a class at the New  School – the only class I attended – with the late Hannah Arendt, the great moral philosopher, who works have guided and informed me for much of my life.

Moral conduct, she wrote, was primarily a matter of the intercourse with a man and himself. It doesn’t matter what other people think, it matters what you think, and whether or not your writing, thoughts, and deeds bring you dignity and self-respect. I’ve learned that I can never please everyone, so I ought to at least please myself.

I understand that this value puts me in conflict with much of the world – just watch the news.

That’s the right place to be in my mind.

Right and wrong in our writing and beliefs are not a concern of the other, but of the self. They are mine.

I did not have dignity or self-respect for much of my life, and I’m gaining some, and enjoying it. I think this is why I never tell other people what to write, or what to think. It is not my concern, it is not appropriate, it is not right.

Isn’t it a remarkable thing that there are so many ways to look at the world, who do we have to so quickly label them right or wrong, left or right, mean or nice?

Moral and proper conduct has nothing to do with obedience or acquiescence to others or getting their approval, it can’t come from the outside, it has to come from the inside.

As I have grappled with truth and lies, and their cousins,  identity and strength, I have grown fiercely protective – sometimes too fiercely, I’m sure –  of my identity, of the work I do, of the people I try to help, and especially, of my own words. All of these are challenged almost daily, as perhaps they should be.

And the thing is they had made me stronger and made me clearer. I can finally stand in my truth because I am learning what my truth is. The only way for me to be wrong is to lie about what I am feeling, the ultimate betrayal of the people who read me.

When you are asked and forced to defend yourself over and over again, you either get stronger or you fall apart. I feel stronger.

I work hard to do good and am never happy to hurt anyone or cause anyone harm.  I can’t lie anymore, is the thing.

Telling the truth wrote another great moral philosopher, Immanuel Kant, “infinitely raises my worth and saves me from being a “mere speck” in the infinity of the universe.”

Amen to that.