Years ago I knew a couple who changed my perspective on the importance of truth.
I met them in the summer, through mutual friends, at a picnic in the park. John was wonderfully kind, Jane was brilliant and funny. I spent an hour engrossed in stories of Jane’s unusually interesting life. She had three graduate degrees, could fly a helicopter, had beat lung cancer, and was doing contract work for the government she couldn’t really discuss.
I mentioned to my and John’s mutual friend that he had really found an amazing lady. Anger flashed across my friend’s face as she told me in a low voice that nothing Jane had told me was true. Everyone was concerned for John, she said, and some of them had even tried an intervention of sorts the previous year. John knew that Jane was a compulsive liar, and stayed with her anyway.
My friends believed Jane was taking advantage of John. I agreed. I considered truth to be unconditionally essential in a healthy relationship. Absolute honesty, I believed, was the path to an authentic intimate bond.
I’ve thought about John and Jane many times over the years. Even when I first learned of Jane’s exquisite penchant for storytelling, so certain it was hurting John, something in me wondered about their connection. John seemed to be happy with her. She was happy with him. They loved each other. They still do, from what I hear – they’re still happy fifteen years later. And she still tells her stories.
I no longer think truth is more important than happiness. Our concept of truth was created in service to our human experience, to the way we feel. Truth is made up of thoughts. Thoughts create our experience. If John and Jane can have a wonderful experience with each other, regardless of the level of truth in their conversations, good on them.
Would you rather have truth without happiness? Or would you rather feel truly happy?