I have a lovely friend who is known to make up fanciful lies — mainly to entertain those that whirl around her in New York — and to assuage any pain or lonesomeness in her life.

You always wonder where her reality begins and the fantasy ends.


One day I asked her about a blatant lie she told and she looked me dead in the eye and asked me back, “Is it is a lie or an unknown truth?”

I nodded with her as I realized we live in uncertain times where the line between fact and fiction varies by the moment and the instant a lie becomes a truth depends on context and discovery.

Can we ever know the truth?

Or must we always assume we are surrounded by lies until the frame of shared experience puts the lie into truth?

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