I prefer to be honest even if it makes me look bad rather than tell lies that might make me look good. I like myself better when I am honest.
I used to travel a lot in my job. On multiple occasions, I would come home to my house and my family and my (now ex-) wife would tell me that I was really screwing up her life by being home. She loved the lifestyle my work provided her, and she loved how she could do whatever she wanted when I was out of town, but she preferred her life without me in it.
I lived with that for 18 years. In April of 1998 I woke up from my self-imposed delusion; I realized I’d been working my butt off to “make her happy” and – having finally given her the life she wanted – I was miserable.
When another woman expressed interest in me a month later, I was ripe for the picking. Is it any wonder I strayed?
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