Note: I understand that truth must be tempered with tact, but I find that for me, it would be better if tact were tempered with truth.
How many times has the perfect moment come, but my words failed to come with it?
How often have I abstained from telling truth, and settled for tact instead?
And how many moments have slipped through my fingers--lost forever?
Moments when I could have touched a soul, but flattered instead?
That terrible nod and smile of supposed understanding has too often belonged to me, and I have listened silently as others have explained and reasoned--trying desparately to justify their wrong-doing.
And I so afraid of offending my fellow human being, simply let it pass, terrified of the result should I speak.
Others tell me that tact and sensitivity are my gift and should be cultivated.
But sometimes I think it would be more appropriate to call it cowardice.
I would rather be called sincere.
I would rather be known as a woman who means what she says and says what she means. What a truthful life I would lead!