There’s a story I sometimes recall of an honest man who had taken to walking the countryside near his home, his treks taking him further and further away each day as he searched for someone who did not recognize him for who he was. As is often the case with so many men, the honest man had grown tired over the years, and his honesty, as much a part of him as his own skin and bones, the very thing which had once put the bounce in his step, now hung on him as loosely as his own aging flesh.
Honesty, it seems, has a way of growing heavier with the passing of time, much the same way a lie might fester and grow inside a person the longer it is kept secret. And while I suppose it says something about the world we live in, that more people are familiar with the feeling of the festering lie rather than the burden of honesty, this is not the time to explore that question. This story is not about the world, but about one man, alone with his burden, walking the hills with heavy steps, desperate to shake a lifetime of transparency before it is too late.