Several years ago, I wrote a short story called “One Last Time” about a young woman who couldn’t seem to stop lying. Whenever she lied, she promised herself it would be the last time—that she would always tell the truth going forward. But if someone asked her a question, she couldn’t seem to resist the urge to fabricate a life she wished was really hers using a story she made up on the fly. When she told one of her doozies, her life was elevated for that moment. As the story unfolded, she actually began to believe what she was saying. She lost touch. For a while, she was living in denial of her real life—the life where she really existed.
Whether you’re admitting defeat, coming to terms with the end of a relationship, or shocked that the size 6 pants you’re trying on are way too snug, at some point we all find ourselves in denial.
Well, you can tough it out in Difficult, Tennessee or disappear to Nowhere, Colorado. If you live in Neutral, Kansas, you might be able to resist making decisions—at least for a while. You can avoid Accident, Maryland, dance your way through Funk, Nebraska, or blow your nose on every street corner in Boogertown, North Carolina.
But there is no town named Denial.
For a place that doesn’t exist, some of us spend an awful lot of time there. And sometimes the return trip takes A WHILE. That’s been my experience, anyway.
For the moment, I’ve left that dreaded spot and, as a result, I have an abundance of clarity.
Although spending time in Denial is not ideal, it has given me much to write about.
So, I think I’ll keep writing.
Please keep reading.
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