This just happened: In an attempt to preface this blog post on truthfulness, I used my opening sentence to do what any good writer does and stretched the truth. Then, karma timed itself in perfect synchronization with my punctuation; as I placed the period, my right eye insta-burned. Folded, tucked, and held hostage by the untouchable crease, my contact took a just-because-break and decided to wander off the job.
I get it, world. You proved your point. Bad things happen to those who lie for relief — comedic or otherwise.
So now, from behind framed lenses, I write earnestly on earnestness.
Tonight’s yoga class, taught by none other than the prettiest Amanda Seyfried look-alike Amanda Seyfried never did see, lit my fire. The instructor helped us set our intentions, nudging us around the theme of truthfulness, and Lord, did it hit home.
I interpreted it as accountability. As integrity. As the token that separates those admiring from the admirable. Normally, I ditch the training-wheel-intention in pursuit of my own, but this one spun through the asanas. It was sticky because it was timely, because I was still feeling guilty from this morning’s failed attempt at the first of “many” 6:30am work outs — a scenario that when something like this:
I vowed to wake up and be at the gym at 6:30am. I set my alarm, heard it ring, then promptly pressed snooze more times teenage girls press pause during Magic Mike.
I felt like my word meant nothing, and that while I hold other people to their promises, I let myself off the hook like a desperate step father would to his newly acquired responsibility. But of course, in the spirit of yoga, I am not to beat myself up over this morning’s glitched genuineness. No, I’ll remain unattached to outcome, aware of my intention and strong in my future convictions to myself. I will hold myself to the same standards I hold my friends, and they hold me.
Truthfulness. Honesty. Integrity. Like a good that’s-what-she-said, it’s applicable in any scenario. I’ll sleep to that — goodnight world.