I was raised to tell the truth, though sometimes I can't help but say what other people want to hear: No, I don't mind waiting. Yes, you're right, I should take tango lessons.

The lie is out of my mouth before I can stop it, though, in that moment, it doesn't feel like a lie because it's what I imagine a better version of me would say. 

Yet, last summer, when my honest response to an airline steward's request was met with a scowl of disapproval, I couldn't stop feeling guilty. Crazy. Right?

The incident niggled at me long after the flight. I questioned my motives, my humanity, my truth, and eventually, I wrote about the experience in the article When Did I Become the Ugly American?

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