Telling the Truth (apparently I've been obsessed with this for awhile)

Our heating system broke—kaput. We had nothing, nada. And so an odyssey began to weave an entirely new air-handling system into a nearly 100-year-old house. I was grateful for all those corporate jobs as I wrote the checks. I was also grateful that the men who came (at 7 AM each day) were quiet, careful, and knowledgeable. Also, most of them wore those sterile booties.

But I was also grateful (in retrospect) for the way the little house crisis forced me to do what I'd not done for too many years—attack the closets, sort the wheat from the chaff. You know how it is—the old journal shows up, the twenty year old story, the photograph of your son on Santa's lap, a pair of mittens someone sent you, a gift still in its box—the one you meant to give to Jean. Also, some very ancient corporate work, which proved to me that I am utterly one beat and narrowly dimensioned.

For example: Asked some fifteen years ago to help lead the Novartis communications team toward more meaningful outputs, I prepared a presentation. This, above, is page 1, illustrated by my husband.

Finding a Voice.
Avoiding Distancing Mechanisms.
Telling the Truth.

Telling the truth? Apparently, this has been my life-long obsession. Maybe because I'm still learning how it's handled.

Tell no one.