I consider myself a chronic fibber. Now mind you, a fibber is not a liar. In fact, I am quite far from being a chronic liar. It would be very unfortunate if I were (and you wouldn’t know anyways cuz I’d just lie about it).
So what’s the difference?
You’re friends are talking recently about their extreme sports experiences. Anna just jumped out of a plane and her parachute almost didn’t dispatch (if that’s the word for it). Kaitlyn’s parents let her climb a 1000 foot mountain without any safeties. AND your bestest friend Garry went splunking and almost couldn’t get out.
So now they’re all turning to you, waiting for you to share your all too amazing experience.
The first thing you think of is, Oh shit. You have no wonderful experience. You spent your entire time holed up at home staring at pictures of Thailand and wishing you could be there. Of course, you’re not rich enough to actually go there, but there’s no need to mention that.
Now here is when the fibber comes alive.
“Actually, I went to the Yellowstone.” You say with a smile, thinking back to the first time you went there.
“No way, again?”
“Yup.” You nod.
Your friends never asked you about that trip before and you have lots of details that you could borrow from there. For example, a wild fire. There was no need to explain that the details of this trip actually happened three years ago.
“I saw a wild fire.”
“That’s crazy! Did you guys almost get burned alive?”
You play along. They made the suggestion.
“Almost. There was so much smoke. It was starting to get into the car and we were all coughing and stuff.”
“That’s so dangerous! Didn’t they like block the area off or something?”
“Yeah they did, but that was after we had already drove into the fire area. God, I thought we were going to die. We almost even lost the road.”
“Man… I’m jealous.”
“Ha ha, just kidding though. This happened like three years ago.”
“Really? Why didn’t you tell us?”
What a fib.
You’re attempting a certain type diet that your parents most certainly do not approve of. It consists of eating only in between meals, which is totally bizarre, but your desperate to lose a few pounds even though your friends call you “the stick”. It’s dinner time and you once again wish to skip it.
“I’m not hungry mom.” You say, rolled your eyes. Your mother looks concerned, like all mothers are and you can tell she wants to sit you down and ask what’s wrong. But she holds the question back.
“Alright, but no snacks then. You’re skipping too many meals, I have a feeling you’re eating too many snacks.”
“Alright mom.” You get the feeling of being seen completely through, but in the end, your mom is still only speculating. She would never know the real reason behind why you were eating all those snacks.
You slip back up to your room where you have a huge stash of granola bars and veggie chips. This is quite simply a lie.
3. What’s the difference?
A fib is a somewhat of a joke. It’s a lie, but it’s a guided lie in which afterwards, you admit that you weren’t telling the truth. It’s put there as a way to guide the conversation away from a certain awkward topic that you have trouble contributing to. But not only do you admit afterwards, the lie itself must be a harmless lie. Simply put, saying that you went to a million dollar sky diving program is not a harmless lie, because you’re being irresponsible and putting a lot of pressure on your parents.
Lying is dangerous. It’s made to be like a spider web. Once you’ve caught someone in your web of lies, you’ve got no choice but to weave it tighter and tighter until nothing can get through it. But even then, the most simple shard of glass can break it. Webs are vulnerable, hard to maintain, and harmful.
So now you know. I fib. Do you?