Lyin’ Comey

As it turns out, I am a pathological liar.

According to family legend, it started when I was five years old and told my parents that it was my older brother who cut my bangs with the kitchen scissors. My poor brother was utterly shocked — his tiny brain circuits fizzing and smoking at the concept of spoken words that did not describe reality. She is saying things happened… but those things didn’t happen… so, how can she say that? And I was like, dude it’s easy — watch. “He did it!”

Lying didn’t (and still doesn’t) come as naturally to him as it did (and does) to me.

This past year, I’ve experienced more failure, rejection and ego blows than I ever have before in my professional life. I went from straight-A student to class-ranked graduate to top employee to… boss-less, title-less, website-less person. I wanted to be An Entrepreneur, so I started a business (with $100 and a one-page form). Then I wanted to be a Strategy Consultant, so I started giving workshops and doing market research. Then I just wanted a steady paycheck, so I started job hunting.

But — silver-tongued truth spinner that I am — I hardly even noticed my Fake It ’Til You Make It Snake evolving into a full-on Imposter Complex Dragon. My business was fledgling, then failing. My consultancy work was piecemeal and largely unpaid (I made more money catering dinners for birthday parties), and I was getting job rejections left and right. But I rarely admitted any of that and never gave the full picture. When anyone asked, “What do you do?” I had a different quasi-answer every time. “I’m a freelance consultant market research strategist… emailer… specialist… nobody.”

I’M UNEMPLOYED. I lack full-time employment. Hooray for “storytelling” and “crafting your professional narrative”, but no.

Then, in a breath of fresh non-bad-news air, I got a scholarship to go to an international business school and a phone call about a potential job offer in the same week. I accepted the scholarship and intended to accept the job offer too — leaving out the minor detail that I would be leaving the country in September.

I could taste Normal Employed Personhood.

Ending was the era of “What’s new with you?” “Oh, just a bunch of random stuff.” Ending was the era of “working” from the library, LinkedIn searching with Iain’s login details because I’d maxed out the searches from my non-Premium account. Ending was the era of asking the café lady for some hot water in my mug with the tea bag I’d brought from home, hoping she wouldn’t notice me stealing milk from the condiment station.

Beginning was the era of: “So, what do you do?” “Oh, I’m glad you asked! I am a _____ at _____.” Beginning was the era of bi-weekly paychecks. Laptop with a longer-than-30-minute battery life? Don’t mind if I do.

Enter: James Comey.

I read his book (listened to it, actually) in two days. The two days after I was told that I would receive the official job offer in two days. (I figured I should get some good book-devouring in while I still have free time.) Without going into political opinions about Comey or the media’s treatment of Comey or emails or Russia or Trump, this was one of my favorite parts of his book:

One of the inevitable questions someone at my height is asked, especially by strangers in elevators, is whether I played basketball in college. The answer is that I didn’t. But it was a long story as to why, involving growing late, knee surgery, and various time demands. I figured nobody wanted to hear all that and, even if they did, it took too long for an elevator ride.

So for a few years after college I took the easy way out and just nodded or said “yup” to any stranger who asked me that question. I did the same thing with friends I played basketball with once I entered law school. I don’t know why I did that. Maybe I was insecure. Maybe it was just easier. Or maybe I liked people to think I was a college jock. This was a seemingly small and inconsequential lie told by a stupid kid, but it was a lie nonetheless. And it ate at me. So after law school I wrote to the friends I’d lied to and told them to truth.

One of the major themes of the book is the habit of lying. The more you lie, the easier it is to keep lying. And the more you resist telling small lies (or confessing them when you do), the easier it is to spot them. Everywhere. This year, I’ve become tone deaf to my own truth — to the point of faking success at the weekly 16-hour fasting challenge I do with my roommates, or cheating in yoga by putting my head on the floor in dolphin pose when the teacher isn’t looking. Like, why?!? The only person losing in those games is me!

When I read about Comey writing to his friends about his nonexistent basketball career (as well as him telling James Clapper that the martini tie he gave him was a re-gift), I considered writing letters to all of my friends to set the record straight about this past year. But when I thought about the number of people I’d told quasi-truths about my work situation, it was too many to count. So I figured a blog post was the next best approximation. I’m planning to email a few specific people with more personal notes, but making it public on the internet is my catch-all.

I also emailed the person who made me the job offer and told her I still want the job, but that I will be moving in four months. She hasn’t replied yet but, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t make a big difference either way. It’s not like I’m at risk of getting Donald Trump re-elected.