I once had a good friend who wrote me a letter I wasn’t ready to read. She told me that I have the potential to do extraordinary things with my life, but I’m not always right; I was wrong then and needed to understand that. The argument was very personal. I responded bitterly and held pride’s hand as I watched that bridge quickly burn, until it disappeared altogether.
Once, a well meaning young man with a poor sense of timing asked me a question that has haunted me ever since: “Danielle, why can’t you ever just say what you mean?” He went on to criticize my way of dancing around the truth, accusing me of being honest with just about everyone but myself (which if you think about it really just makes me a big fat liar because one can only account for what one believes in, right?). I didn’t have a solid explanation for him then, and I still wouldn’t today. The words that I spoke were unkind, but I hope he is doing well.
I once awoke in the night several times before accepting that I wasn’t going to get any sleep. I shook off the covers, poured a drink, and stood out on the back porch wishing I still smoked. A moth whipped past me and I swear I heard God whisper, “Child, you are looking in all the wrong places.” I stepped back inside, angrily deciding not to give thanks for the rest of the year.
I suppose there are certain truths about oneself that are better left buried.
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