The man lied.

I am not sure at what point someone crosses over from "someone who lies" to "liar." I actually looked up the definition of "liar" on Webster's while sitting here, and the dictionary is pretty clear-cut: "someone who lies."

But I think if we each search ourselves, we all occasionally lie. White lies. Maybe we're put on the spot. Liars, in our lexicon, tend to be the ones we think tell the insidious lies. Or they lie all the time. They lie to hurt. They lie for self-preservation despite knowing they hurt.

In the time I knew this man, he lied. More than once. With devastating results.

But out of those events, there are two truths.

There is the "truth." If you had put a tape recorder in the room on that day, there was what he said on tape. How do I know I didn't misunderstand? Or maybe misinterpret? Aside from an aural photographic memory--ask anyone, have always had it--what he said was SO chilling that my teeth chattered. It hung in the room, and I thought the temperature dropped a few degrees. I knew that what he said was going to hurt someone (another person) deeply. There was no mistake. But then he walked out of that room, and went to a meeting two days later and denied--outright--that he said what he did. And the fallout from that lie, like toxic dominoes falling down, resounded through quite a few lives, including my own. So there was "truth." What was said.

But then, there was Truth. The search to make sense of the aftermath.

Truth--with a capital T--is a winding journey. It's ongoing, in every single aspect of my life. It isn't confined to that event, or one event, but to all events. My blog, actually, has been a mult-year, nearly 1,500-post (holy CRAP, have I really posted that many times?)  search for my own Truth. In fact, over the last couple of years, a few times I have had people challenge my Truth, try to take it away from me. Perhaps it would be more convenient if I didn't say what I did on this blog or in life. Or maybe I should view things differently--whatever it is. But the thing about Truth is it's your own.

And mine is utterly unwavering. A gift of growing older, I sometimes think, though age is no guarantee of knowing the Truth.

Which is not to say someone cannot change my mind. No, that's being close-minded. I will try to listen to others' perspectives. Sometimes if only to try to understand how the heck it is they can believe what they do. Or, as a novelist, to try to understand motivation. I have often asked myself how certain people can look at themselves in the mirror. I don't know. And so I do study people. All the time. Occupational hazard.

It's also not to say the man who lied didn't have his own Truth. That lying was a faster way to accomplish what he felt needed to be done. Or maybe he hated women. Or maybe just me. Just because we might not like someone else's Truth doesn't mean it's not theirs.

For Truth is the bedrock of who you are. For me, it is absolutely a commitment to be kind. It is a sureness in the fact that my children are the center of my Universe. It is knowing what I value. Knowing who I love.

I often quote a scene in the movie Adaptation, in which one brother cannot understand how his sibling told a woman he loved her when he knew damn well she didn't love him back.:

You are what you love, not what loves you, I decided that a long time ago.

I know what I love. That is my Truth and always will be.

And that is what I hope to teach my children. Peers are so influential, but deep, deep inside you know the Truth. You know right from wrong. You know it. So hold tight to it.

You can't control the world around you.

People lie. People will hurt you. That is human nature.

Good things will happen. Wondrous things. Riches may land at your feet, or fame.

But Truth is something you must constantly seek. Your Truth. No matter how painful. No matter how uncomfortable it might make you sometimes. Know thyself, and you won't lose your way. Or even if you do, you will find your way back again.

I don't plan my blogs. Ever. I don't write them in Word and edit them and then paste them in here and press Publish. 

I sit down. I write. And what comes out is my Truth. 

I don't self-censor. I don't censor. Period.

I'm working on a memoir--part Mommy Memoir (from my adventures as a Pirate Queen with Pirate Boy), part spiritual quest in my journey through chronic illness. Part funny. Part poignant. All True. Over time, from my Pirate Boy Tweets and Facebook quotes, I've heard from at least a half-dozen editors and agents about it. The proposal is ready . . . and one thing I kept in mind while writing was advice from a wise agent. "Don't bother writing a memoir if you aren't going to be honest."

My guess is a couple of people won't be happy when they read it. Well, they should have conducted themselves a little more nicely. A lot of people, I think, will laugh and cry. But in the end, what ended up on the page was Truth.

I own mine. It's my most precious treasure. And it is my hope that those I love know theirs. That you know yours.

Thoughts?