Pants On Fire

I was the George Washington of children.

I could not tell a lie. Seriously. Not one.

Some called it honest. My parents called it obsessive compulsive.

If you had met my 8-year-old self and had wanted to know the time you would have gotten the “correct” answer.

No, it’s not 12:00, it’s 11:59! No one likes a liar, DAD.

I was a treat to raise.

My obsession with the truth was not limited to telling the time. When I was nine, my babysitter drove really fast down the freeway so I could feel what it was like “to fly” and made me promise not to tell my parents. But that was against my 9-year-old moral compass.

Mom! At exactly 1:27 we drove 98 mph on the freeway!

I was also a treat to baby-sit.

These days I have the opposite problem.

I was recently on a trip to San Francisco for my “day job” and was shopping in Free People. The sales assistant was being friendly and asked me if I lived in the Bay Area.

No…I live in LA.

Oh great, what do you do?

I’m an actor.

Wow! That’s so cool. Are you up here for vacation?

No, I’m here for work.

Wow. That is SO COOL.

Now, did this Sales Assistant assume I was in San Francisco for acting work?

Of course.

And did I correct her?

Of course not.

I kept the lie going the entire time.

I tried on clothes and talked about how difficult it was to film all day.

I browsed the sale rack and told her how hard it was to memorize all those lines.

I waltzed out of that store with all traces of Mr. Washington gone. And just because I was feeling crazy, I looked at my watch, saw that it was 2:27, and shouted over my shoulder:

And by the way, it’s 2:30!

I was high on lies and it felt AMAZING! I was crazy! CRAZY WITH MY LIES!

That all changed when I got back to Los Angeles.

I was sitting in my tax prepares office and she looked at me in surprise.

So, you didn’t make ANY money as an actor this year?

I feigned cheeriness.

Nope!

Not even $100?

No…not even $1.

Oh, okay…

I smiled through her quiet judgment and tried to push it aside.

I later ate my weight in ice cream.

And in my Cookies N’ Cream haze, I realized that I had lied to that Sales Assistant because I needed a lie for myself.

I needed to live – even for 5 minutes – in the world I was working so hard to create.

And sometimes that world can seem really far away.

It’s easy to lose hope in Los Angeles. It’s easy for people to point at you and say that you are not successful.

But when I think about my last year here, I would disagree with those people. I may not have made money – but I’ve gained ground.

I’ve managed to clear a little more of a path for myself.

And I’ve managed to not give up one ounce of hope.

And that’s no lie.