A crumb of truth is the best cover
How small truths become cover for a larger story
There is a small piece of truth in it, something to point back to. Something happened, something was said, there was a role, a presence, a small achievement. So you cannot simply call it a bare-faced lie.
Only by the time the story is finished, that small true part is carrying a much larger picture on its shoulders. Like a shell game. The damn little ball is somewhere, of course. We are just no longer looking where it was first shown to us.
From the details, a picture begins to form in which someone appears larger, deeper, braver, more professional, more sensitive, or more significant than the details would otherwise support.
Then we may get a pinch of mannered performance too, just to make sure the effect lands.
The person speaking in long, winding sentences while saying remarkably little. The voice lowered almost beyond hearing. The oddly stressed letters. The performed modesty. The overly polished professional language under which there is barely anything concrete left. Meanwhile, you start to feel that perhaps you are the one who cannot quite follow the flow between the sentences.
My question is: why?
What is the purpose of this inflated shell that appears to hold itself up?
The whole thing is arranged so that the listener reads the person out of the event: more modest, deeper, more sensitive, more important.
For a while, it is just tiring.
When enough of this kind of speech surrounds you, the precise sentence starts to sound poor. A statement that covers only what happened suddenly feels insufficient.
The person who presents reality at its actual size can easily look clumsier next to those who build a larger life out of every crumb of truth.
A social setting teaches you what kind of voice you need to use about yourself if you do not want to disappear. First, someone adds something that could perhaps be true. Then it still feels a little thin, so they add another layer.
A role becomes an important role, presence becomes contribution, contribution becomes a professional turning point, and the professional turning point becomes a method of their own.
If that has worked nicely, they take another event and paint that one too. Then a third. By the time they are done, the separate stories look like one glossy, meaningful explanation. At least from a distance. If we squint a little, the difference has already disappeared.
At the end of the day, the person who simply remained precise starts to look as though they are the one who is lacking.
A note in the margins of the weekend.
Lilien Gerlach | Behavioural Analyst Notes