Well, I’ve been thinking again. Thinking about truth, because sometimes I get bored of thinking up grocery lists. I think that I may have already mentioned that I am a lousy liar. I have no poker face. I don’t even need to say anything and you can read me like a book. It’s not necessarily a good thing, it can almost be rude. If I’m not too fond of you, you’ll probably see it written all over my face. I know that I’m honest, but what I’ve been wondering is, am I truthful?
Are you wondering what the difference is or do you already know where I’m heading? I try to always tell the truth but the fact is that I tell my truth. The truth as it appears to me. I’ve come to realize that my memories are coloured by my experiences. The same memory retold by myself or by one of my sisters may not be recognizable as the same event. Believe me, I could retell the births of our children and my husband could retell their birth stories and not only will it sound different but it will be hard to believe that we were in the same room.
This skewed view of the truth is not strictly relegated to the sphere of my personal experiences. Take a look at the media. Is there anywhere that the reporting of the truth is more questionable? There was a time that reporters objectively imparted the day’s news and events to us. Now, the bias is so apparent as to almost be as big as the news story. It seems to me that we now pick newspapers based on whether or not that paper’s bias is the same as ours. Either that or we read as many papers as we can get our hands on and try to glean the truth from the various accounts.
So, what do we do with this? Do we work towards a more honest truth, examining our personal histories for the bias that we have created? Or, do we just accept this knowing that this is one of the flaws of humanity? Is it even a flaw or just human nature?