“Five foot two and eyes of blue...” Hey, that’s me! I’ve been telling myself this for years. Sam Lewis and his buddy Joe Young penned the words to Has Anybody Seen My Gal in the 1920s. I can’t say where I got the notion that my height perfectly matched the lyrics to this catchy but annoying tune, but it was fiction I firmly believed. Maybe I was trying to make my younger self feel better about my carrot-red hair, perhaps my school nurse or a gym teacher misinformed me. More likely, I was a late bloomer and just continued to grow after people stopped measuring me.
In a moment of bravery, I measured myself on an infallible stadiometer this past weekend. I was prepared for the worst. You must realize I spend a good deal of time convincing my coworkers they are shrinking. I measure many of them on an ancient scale in my office for workplace weight loss contests. When calculating body mass index (BMI) for the masses, I am often the harbinger of aged vertebral doom who tells people they are not as tall as they once were. Internally, I feared I was barely five feet tall. This would be an unsurprising but sad finding because it would convert my BMI to a sorrier number than the one I had grudgingly grown to accept.
You can imagine my surprise when I tightened the knob on the measuring device, stepped away, and revealed that I am now (at one-half century of life) nearly an inch taller than I had ever known. That means there is a good chance I was over 63 inches at some point! Practically a giant! Since it is clear I am no longer growing, there can only be one explanation. Be it firm denial or a lifetime of erroneous information, the result remains the same. I’ve been lying to myself for YEARS.
Despite my surprisingly improved BMI, this revelation rattled me. And it started me wondering what other lies I’ve been telling myself.
Without delay I thought of two...
How about the notion that “I’m right” about something just because I’ve managed to convince myself there is no other way? I can latch onto that one with the ferocity of a Rottweiler with a pork chop. (Just ask my husband…) And while we’re on that subject, how do I rationalize the accompanying bad choices I sometimes make while I’m trying desperately to prove my point? Finding reasons to excuse my poor behavior just adds to my self-deception. Being honest about it, I also have to question how I manage to justify the ways I may hurt the ones around me with my tendency to barrel through life with my own inflexible lists and pressing agenda. (Ouch- and I’m sorry if you have been squashed on the track of my locomotive tendencies.)
But my inclination to insist I am correct is not the only personal fraud I’ve identified since I began thinking about this deep well of self-deception. Consider lie number 2… What about the times I tell myself “I can’t”? I give voice to that notion and even I am hard-pressed to know what I am really saying. “I can’t go back to school.” “I can’t spend an hour exercising every night.” “I can’t change my career now.” “I can’t pay my bills online.” “I can’t make bread with yeast!” In most cases, I’m claiming I can’t do something I’ve never even attempted. And I’m telling that sorry tale to MYSELF. It’s like clipping my own wings with a dull craft scissor. When I swindle myself in that way, I pretend the choice is not mine. I’ve given up before I even try. A truly pitiful display.
What great untruths and white lies have YOU been telling yourself? Now that I am the confirmed and virtually towering height of nearly 5 foot 3, I’m pressing forward to uncover more of the ways I’ve been deceiving myself. There are millions of things I’ve never tried. And almost as many annoying behaviors with which I can stop torturing myself and others. It’s a brave new world. Care to join me?
 |
| WHAT ON EARTH?! |
