The Lies We Tell

I resent having to lie.

I resent the pity/confusion/judgement that comes from certain mindsets around living in a van.

I resent the need for craftiness and dishonesty.  And that is not because I feel everyone has the right to know the absolute truth about my life and how I choose to lead it, but having to mislead or lie when I don't necessarily feel free to do otherwise feels like a weight or burden that I begrudge having to take on.

Or maybe that's just a cop out?  Maybe the only result of transparency would be people's judgments, and maybe I'm just afraid of disappointing some?  Afraid of not meeting people's expectations?

I'm not used to compartmentalizing.  So needing to be a slightly different version of myself at my place of business does not come naturally.  Developing friendships and still not being ready to open up about where/how I live is a strain for me at this time in my life.  I'm determining that secrets are a sure way of opening yourself up to loneliness.

My recent (tho, uneventful) run-in with the Police, has reminded me of the need to be discreet.  And discretion is not something I've ever had much of a knack for.  I am also becoming more and more aware that my lack of hassles through this experience is, I'm sure, largely due to my position of privilege--young, white, able-bodied female who can afford to dress the part of a corporate professional.  People don't question my appearance in their neighborhoods, cops believe my story without question, coffee shops never question me using their facilities regardless of whether or not I've purchased anything.

I do hope to continue being as lucky as I have been; but even if my luck should change, I will still be grateful for blessings I've experienced over the past year.