August 15
Truth is the naked daylight, in which the masks and costumes of the world look not half so splendid as by torchlight.
Essays (freely rendered)
Listening mode
Truth is the naked daylight, in which the masks and costumes of the world look not half so splendid as by torchlight.
A story you have told often takes on a shape over time. The pauses land, the punchline comes in the right place, and a sentence you only thought back then has at some point become one you said. You never consciously lied. The story simply adapted itself to what works on listeners.
Then one day someone is there who was there back then too. He remembers it differently: you hesitated longer, and the saving idea was actually someone else's, a third person's. His version is smaller and more long-winded. Afterwards, nobody at the table laughs quite the way they did before.
Even so, it is only partly unpleasant. In the sober version you come off less well, but it is the only one you actually appear in: with your hesitation, with the relief when someone helped you. The polished version had no room for that person, and none for your uncertainty either.
Whether you will tell the story differently next time, you don't know yet. You will probably mention that third person's name.
