Llamas, Lint, and the Lies I Tell Myself

 I don't own a llama. I don't have the property, fencing or even the temperament to own one. But that doesn't prevent me from lying to myself every time I watch a video of one of the beasties sporting a little knitted hat and spitting enthusiastically on innocent passers by.

That's when I say to myself, "Oh, yeah. I could totes live the llama life." Plus, it would be awesome to have that happen the next time the landlord comes and pokes around our backyard without notice.

This is what psychologists call "delusion." 

I call it "woolly optimism." 

Either way, I would not 'totes' live the llama life. (I wouldn't 'totes' say 'totes' if I hadn't heard it fifteen times standing in line at Tim Hortons with what felt like several thousand high school students the other day.)

And that's just one of the things on the ever-growing list of untruths I feed myself like motivational M&M's. If those M's stood for Misrepresentation and Memory Loss.

You see, I lie to me. A lot. Not in big, dramatic, get caught and exposed in a Netflix series docudrama kind of way. The little ones. Lint sized. The ones that seem harmless until they accumulate and threaten to set fire to the metaphorical dryer of my cerebral cortex.

What does that mean? I don't know. 

I've obviously told myself one too many nano-whoppers already.  But in the interest of science (read: filling out this post) I'll attempt to explain.

Lint - and What it Has to do With Any of This

Lint happens when you think you're clean, but time, friction, and having a belly button deeper  than when six-year old you ran around the house naked yelling "freedom" reveal otherwise.

Here's a lie I tell myself on the rare occasions I do laundry:

"This time, I'll clean out the dryer trap before the lint breaks down into topsoil and starts growing bean sprouts." 

I also tell myself I'll fold my clothes right away. Then, I'll glance at my beautiful wife in a way that says "you know the basket is also a socially acceptable closet, yes?" To be fair, she does fold an entire maximum load by the time I find matching socks.

I tell myself, almost without even thinking, that the basket is for clean clothes and dirty clothes go beside the hamper. 

Trust me, they don't.

I should give up on this lint metaphor because it works too well. The build-up of neglected intentions. What's left behind after I tumble-dry through another cycle of motivation, distraction, and not having enough storage space for my hang-ups.

One last thing I'll call Lie #2: Dryer sheets count as effort. In other words, if it smells nice, it counts as clean. If that logic held up, then my years aged 9 through 13 would count as being retroactively hygienic.

The Lies I Tell Myself ... and You Probably Do, Too

#1. I'll start on Monday. Yeah, you will. This just might be the kingpin in everyone's mind mafia of untruth. This is the one that supports every bad decision or missed opportunity made between Tuesday and Sunday. 

Diet? Monday. 

Exercise? Monday.

Getting an early jump on the new blog post? Monday.

Personal and/or grocery shopping? Friday. But only because it's pay day. Caveat: If you have enough toilet paper to last the weekend - Monday.

#2. I'll only check one email." Yeah, you will. These are the famous last words of productivity. I should know by now, as we all should, that opening our devices to check a single email leads to being six YouTube videos deep, and Googling if raccoons can be leash and potty trained. (They can. But you shouldn't. You're welcome)

#3. I'm not procrastinating. I'm percolating. Yeah, you are. This is the new "creative process". Watching other people succeed on Instagram while thinking about your own potential and how you can maximize it without actually having to do anything.

#4. If I sleep for three hours and drink enough coffee, I'll be fine. Yeah, you will. This is the one that hurts the next day, possibly even the day after, and makes blinking feel like taking the ultimate risk. Good thing you stayed up late to finish that self-help presentation on how to get enough rest. 

#5. I need this. Yeah, you - wait. What? Never say this, even to yourself. This is how I ended up with a giant Minion plushy named Dave, a pocket watch that plays a different Bee Gees song when you open it (depending on the hour), a pair of jeans that were two generations too small, and a perm kit. 

#6. I can absolutely pull off that look. Yeah ... you can't. I've told myself this before. The look in question was sported by someone half my age with twice my metabolic rate. I ended up looking like a roadie for a boy band from the 80's that's still touring.

These are only six lies. There are probably six more, maybe seven.

Yeah ... that's not true.

Where Does the Llama Fit In?

The llama is the pack animal that carries all my self-delusions. And represents the best version of myself I think is out there somewhere just waiting for me to accessorize properly.

Yes, if only I had a llama, or a book deal, or a mildly sympathetic cheesecake with emotional baggage of its own and chocolate drizzle. Then I'd finally arrive. At what, I don't know. But I'll be in one of those big dumb hats only tourists susceptible to sunburn from a 60 watt lightbulb can pull off.

Maybe some better version of me that drinks coffee from a mug so big two hands are not optional and smiles like I've already done next years taxes.

If I had that, I'd be oddly serene and effortlessly confident. Or at least quietly reflective and introspectively arrogant. I assume this would all happen for me if I bought a llama. 

And that's lie #9 my friends: The right purchase will fix me. It's true. I've seen the commercials.

Of course, I could improve myself without livestock. Or, not only livestock. Unless I start an indie coffee shop that specializes in llama milk lattes. 

I don't have the capital to support such dreams. But if anyone reading this does, please send some free merch.

Lying to Ourselves Can be Weirdly Helpful

If anyone is in the same boat as me, it's possible we're being too hard on ourselves.

Because the truth is, sometimes telling ourselves little untruths is more about being able to face the day without first weeping into our Shreddies.

We tell ourselves we're going to change for the better. Tomorrow. Next week. When Mercury is in retrograde. Or after Mercury comes out of retrograde. Nobody really knows what that means, which makes it the perfect 'adaptable' excuse. 

These little lint balls of hope, as I call them, help us move forward by helping us to believe in the better versions of ourselves long enough to actually become them.

And sometimes we simply need to protect our self esteem or give ourselves time to adjust, even if what we say internally is more entertainment than reality. For example, I watched a survival challenge show and decided I could survive the wild with a Swiss army knife and a pamphlet on finding edible berries in the woods. 

I've gotten lost at Walmart.

Cleaning Out the Lint Trap: What I'm Trying Now

I'm not going to say I'll give up on lying to myself altogether, because that's unrealistic and a whole lot less fun. I am going through the list looking for practical changes, though.

Now, instead of:

I can become a completely different person overnight.

I'm going with:

I can be a little less prone to frustration induced sarcasm than I was yesterday. Maybe.

And instead of:

If I had more time, I'd be amazing.

I'm going to try:

I'm going to use the time I imagine being amazing to actually accomplish something. In itself, amazing.

I'm also going to make an effort to clean out more of my mental 'lint traps'. I'm going to let go of goals other people think I should have, admit that some things I try may not work out, which is perfectly fine, and wearing matching socks on purpose.

About That Llama ...

Will I ever get a llama? Doubtful.

I still like the idea. I'd name it Lorenzini. 

The idea represents the part of me that is at the same time ridiculous and slightly noble. Because it's willing to grow, learn, and elegantly spit on life's more difficult moments while standing awkwardly in a field all alone in a kitted hat.

We're all just trying to manage the static cling of life. Trying to feel less stuck in the past and less weighted down by our own expectations. And not as burdened by dirty laundry - literal and emotional.

I think we just need to start telling better lies to ourselves. Lies like:

 - I'm allowed to rest.

 - I can always try again.

 - Today wasn't perfect, but didn't need to be.

Those are the lies I'll keep. Because they're better. And with a little focus and determination, they can be truths.

From Behind the Dryer Door

If you're still here at this point, congratulations. You've probably got some lint of your own or you're planning on adopting a mental llama, too. Maybe, like me, you've been putting off cleaning the trap.

Whatever the case may be, may we all lie to ourselves truthfully today. Or at least make ourselves and those we love smile. And if it doesn't go according to plan, well, that's just a better story we can tell tomorrow.

And if you ever do get an actual llama?

Name it Lorenzini. Just for me.