I've been thinking lately. I'm not a totally honest person. And I don't mean that I am a pathological liar or a thief. I just mean that sometimes, particularly hard times, I am less than sincere.
Chances are, if you ran into me and asked me how I was doing, my answer would be, "Good." Even if I'm not doing good. Even if two of my kids threw up that morning or we were completely out of money because of an unexpected expense or. . . or. . . . or
My list could go on but you get the picture. Why do I do that? My justification is, Well, no one really wants to hear about the unbearable cramps being the reason that I am currently standing in the pharmacy section of Target, searching for Midol. They just asked me to be polite. But here's the thing: I have good friends who ask me the same question, and I'm pretty sure that they are asking because they care, rather than out of common courtesy, and you know what? I give them the same answer.
Sometimes I feel like there is exactly one woman who truly knows me, and that is simply because we are living parallel lives. I tell her things that I tell no one else, because she truly understands. And sometimes I wonder if maybe, just maybe, when those friends ask me how I'm doing, if I answered fully and truthfully, that I might find more women who's lives are much like mine. But, for now, I'm going to have to find the wizard first. I don't know if I have the courage to lose those friends.