intellectual bullshit and overvaluing of your critical judgment. Your lie is not useful to him. In fact, it is simply avoiding your responsibility as one human being to another. That’s okay. It happens all the time. It is not a mortal sin. But don’t bullshit yourself about it being kind .”
He ends with this: “ I don’t want to spend a lot of time explaining things to you for your cute little project of playing with telling the truth if you don’t have the balls to try it .”
Condescending prick.
I know my e-mail to the old man was wrong. I shouldn’t have been so rah-rah effusive. But here I’ve hit the outer limit of Radical Honesty, a hard wall. I can’t trash the old man.
I try to understand Blanton’s point about compassion. To most of us, honesty often means cruelty. But to Blanton, honesty and compassion are in sync. It’s an intriguing way to look at the world, but I just don’t buy it in the case of the widower poet. Screw Blanton. (By the way: I broke Radical Honesty and changed the identifying details of the old-man story so as not to humiliate him. Also, I’ve messed a bit with the timeline of events to simplify things. Sorry.)
To compensate for my wimpiness, I decide to toughen up. Which is probably the exact wrong thing to do. Today I’m getting a haircut, and my barber is telling me he doesn’t want hiswife to get pregnant because she’ll get too fat (a bit of Radical Honesty of his own), and I say, “You know, I’m tired. I have a cold. I don’t want to talk anymore. I want to read.”
“Okay,” he says, wielding his scissors, “go ahead and read.”
Later, I do the same thing with my in-laws when they’re yapping on about preschools. “I’m bored,” I announce. “I’ll be back later.” And with that, I leave the living room.
I tell Blanton, hoping for his approval. Did anything come of it? he asks. Any discussions and insights? Hmm.
He’s right. If you’re going to be a schmuck, at least you should find some redeeming quality in it. Blanton’s a master of this. One of his tricks is to say things with such glee and enthusiasm, it’s hard to get too pissed. “You may be a petty asshole,” he says, “but at least you’re not a secret petty asshole.” Then he’ll laugh.
I have yet to learn that trick myself. Consider how I handled this scene at a diner a couple of blocks from my apartment.
“Everything okay?” asked our server, an Asian man with tattoos.
“Yeah, except for the coffee. I always have to order espresso here, because the espresso tastes like regular coffee. The regular coffee here is terrible. Can’t you guys make stronger coffee?”
The waiter said no and walked away. My friend looked at me. “I’m embarrassed for you,” he said. “And I’m embarrassed to be around you.”
“I know. Me, too.” I felt like a Hollywood producer who parks in handicapped spots. I ask Blanton what I should have done.
“You should have said, ’This coffee tastes like shit!’” he says, cackling.
• • •
I will say this: One of the best parts of Radical Honesty is that I’m saving a whole lot of time. It’s a cut-to-the-chase way to live. At work, I’ve been waiting for my boss to reply to a memo for ten days. So I write him: “ I’m annoyed that you didn’t respond to our memo earlier. But at the same time, I’m relieved, because then if we don’t nail one of the things you want, we can blame any delays on your lack of response .”
Pressing SEND makes me nervous—but the e-mail works. My boss responds: “ I will endeavor to respond by tomorrow. Been gone from N.Y. for two weeks .” It is borderline apologetic. I can push my power with my boss further than I thought.
Later, a friend of a friend wants to meet for a meal. I tell him I don’t like leaving my house. “ I agree to meet some people for lunch because I fear hurting their feelings if I don’t. And in this terrifying age where everyone has a blog, I don’t want
He ends with this: “ I don’t want to spend a lot of time explaining things to you for your cute little project of playing with telling the truth if you don’t have the balls to try it .”
Condescending prick.
I know my e-mail to the old man was wrong. I shouldn’t have been so rah-rah effusive. But here I’ve hit the outer limit of Radical Honesty, a hard wall. I can’t trash the old man.
I try to understand Blanton’s point about compassion. To most of us, honesty often means cruelty. But to Blanton, honesty and compassion are in sync. It’s an intriguing way to look at the world, but I just don’t buy it in the case of the widower poet. Screw Blanton. (By the way: I broke Radical Honesty and changed the identifying details of the old-man story so as not to humiliate him. Also, I’ve messed a bit with the timeline of events to simplify things. Sorry.)
To compensate for my wimpiness, I decide to toughen up. Which is probably the exact wrong thing to do. Today I’m getting a haircut, and my barber is telling me he doesn’t want hiswife to get pregnant because she’ll get too fat (a bit of Radical Honesty of his own), and I say, “You know, I’m tired. I have a cold. I don’t want to talk anymore. I want to read.”
“Okay,” he says, wielding his scissors, “go ahead and read.”
Later, I do the same thing with my in-laws when they’re yapping on about preschools. “I’m bored,” I announce. “I’ll be back later.” And with that, I leave the living room.
I tell Blanton, hoping for his approval. Did anything come of it? he asks. Any discussions and insights? Hmm.
He’s right. If you’re going to be a schmuck, at least you should find some redeeming quality in it. Blanton’s a master of this. One of his tricks is to say things with such glee and enthusiasm, it’s hard to get too pissed. “You may be a petty asshole,” he says, “but at least you’re not a secret petty asshole.” Then he’ll laugh.
I have yet to learn that trick myself. Consider how I handled this scene at a diner a couple of blocks from my apartment.
“Everything okay?” asked our server, an Asian man with tattoos.
“Yeah, except for the coffee. I always have to order espresso here, because the espresso tastes like regular coffee. The regular coffee here is terrible. Can’t you guys make stronger coffee?”
The waiter said no and walked away. My friend looked at me. “I’m embarrassed for you,” he said. “And I’m embarrassed to be around you.”
“I know. Me, too.” I felt like a Hollywood producer who parks in handicapped spots. I ask Blanton what I should have done.
“You should have said, ’This coffee tastes like shit!’” he says, cackling.
• • •
I will say this: One of the best parts of Radical Honesty is that I’m saving a whole lot of time. It’s a cut-to-the-chase way to live. At work, I’ve been waiting for my boss to reply to a memo for ten days. So I write him: “ I’m annoyed that you didn’t respond to our memo earlier. But at the same time, I’m relieved, because then if we don’t nail one of the things you want, we can blame any delays on your lack of response .”
Pressing SEND makes me nervous—but the e-mail works. My boss responds: “ I will endeavor to respond by tomorrow. Been gone from N.Y. for two weeks .” It is borderline apologetic. I can push my power with my boss further than I thought.
Later, a friend of a friend wants to meet for a meal. I tell him I don’t like leaving my house. “ I agree to meet some people for lunch because I fear hurting their feelings if I don’t. And in this terrifying age where everyone has a blog, I don’t want
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