I Believe the Lies of Handsome Men

Isn’t that beautiful? I’ve been thinking about Cleo a lot recently. I first saw her in concert back in 1975 with the Johnny Dankworth Trio (her husband) at the Stratford Shakespeare Festival in Stratford, Ontario. I’m going back there this summer to see three shows and one at the neighboring Shaw Festival in Niagara-on-the-Lake. I love her bell-like tones and the soft soulful melodies she weaves. Not bad for a 90-year-old.

Of course, this post isn’t about Cleo Laine or Stratford or music.

It’s about believing lies. I think we all (me included) believe the lies of handsome men. Let me define my terms. ‘Handsome’ might also mean beautiful, clever, charismatic, popular, rich, erudite, holy, or whatever else you find attractive. ‘Men’ might also mean women, corporations, churches, books, political parties, schools, philosophies, or any other person, place, or thing that influences our thinking.

After writing thousands of words and discarding them, I finally got it down to one sentence.

We believe not what is true, but what resonates with who we are deep inside.

In fact, we are fundamentally unable to identify truth. In an age of virtual reality, we cannot even trust what we witness with our own eyes. We cannot trust experience, the Internet, ancient holy books, science, the media, or what others say. Not even the person, place, or thing that is most attractive to us—the lies of handsome men—can we know to be true.

This has always been the way of things. Unfortunately, far from fulfilling its promise of giving us instant access to all knowledge, the Internet has obfuscated truth, and has given equal weight to the words and thoughts of everyone. If for no other reason, this in itself has made it impossible to ascertain what is true and what is false. Instead, we have only what is believed and what is not believed. And that is different for every person.

Understanding it is all lies, has caused me to look inside myself at what kind of person I am. When I find myself angry, hateful, bitter, ready to kill, it is a reflection of who I am, not of what is true. When I find myself filled with joy, love, compassion, it is also a reflection of who I am. And the neat part of it is that I can choose what kind of person I am deep inside. I can choose whether I am a hateful, resentful, angry individual, or whether I am a loving, kind, and compassionate individual. I might fail to always live up to that ideal, but I renew it daily.

I am not going to attempt to relate this to current events. The association is too obvious and my analysis would be redundant. Each day, though, I ask myself if my response is the response of the kind of person I choose to be. I choose the lies I will believe based on what resonates within my soul.

I tell lies for a living. It’s called writing fiction. But I will cite two of my characters and the principles they live by as my own code for living. From Tony, “Leave the world a better place than you found it.” From Brian, “Treat everyone with kindness and respect.”

This is all I aspire to. These are the lies I choose to believe.

And here’s another beautiful photo from down in Southern Indiana where I enjoyed the hospitality of my friend and childhood neighbor, Mike Brown.