Spewing the truth all the time has its own cost.
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White lies can pop up pretty regularly in our everyday social lives. I myself am a recovering white liar: In my teens and early 20s, I found it much easier to fib that I wasn’t feeling well or that I had a family obligation rather than tell an acquaintance I was just too busy to see them. These lies were benign enough, but in the end, the stress they caused just wasn’t worth it. As my colleague Julie Beck wrote in 2017, “The secrets we keep pop up like Whac-a-Moles in our thoughts—chattering little rodents that won’t stay down when you hammer them.” And even the smallest white lies can take their turn in the mental game of Whac-a-mole.
But spewing the truth all the time comes with its own cost—and can hurt other people. “Shutting up for a while has certainly softened me,” Michael Leviton wrote in 2021. “These days, I try to save my honesty for those who want it.” Today’s newsletter explores truth, lies, and all that’s in between.
On Truth and Lies
The Right Way to Say the Unsayable
By Arthur C. Brooks
How to speak truth without fear—but avoid alienating everyone you know
What I Learned About Love When I Stopped Being Honest
By Michael Leviton
After growing up in a family that never lied, I spent decades being off-puttingly truthful.
The Worst Part of Keeping a Secret
By Julie Beck
It’s not that stressful to hide something from people, but it is stressful to think about it all the time.
Still Curious?
Other Diversions
P.S.
I recently asked readers to share a photo of something that sparks their sense of awe in the world. “My friends and I run nearly daily—it has been and continues to be my most important daily routine,” Maylian Pak from Eugene, Oregon, writes. “Recently we added a Friday-morning sunrise hike, and I captured this photo as we neared the summit of the trail. We all paused to absorb the beauty of the sunlight filtering through the trees.”
I’ll continue to feature your responses in the coming weeks. If you’d like to share, reply to this email with a photo and a short description so we can share your wonder with fellow readers in a future edition of this newsletter or on our website. Please include your name (initials are okay), age, and location. By doing so, you agree that The Atlantic has permission to publish your photo and publicly attribute the response to you, including your first name and last initial, age, and/or location that you share with your submission.
— Isabel