I was 21 years old and working as managing editor of a weekly newspaper. I had just gotten out of a three-year relationship and I wasn’t dating anyone. As I worked alone at my office on a Sunday afternoon, a young woman dropped by to see me.
She was on her way back to her college after a weekend visit home. We had had a flirtatious relationship but it hadn’t been anything serious. Now that I wasn’t dating anyone, though, she had come to see whether I’d be interested in turning our flirtation into something serious.
I felt conflicted. I was attracted to her, but I knew I wasn’t going to date her. Maybe I wasn’t really completely over the relationship that had just ended, I told her. She understood. I kissed her as she left and we remained friends.
We both moved on to other relationships and I didn’t think any more about the conversation. I assumed she hadn’t thought about it for years, either. About a month ago, I realized that I lied to her that day — but only because I had lied to myself.
I decided it was time to call her — after all these years — and explain what had really happened.

When politicians insist the ‘war on drugs’ is working, they’re just following majoritarian incentives
Why does anyone else care what Elon Musk does with his money?
I’ve lost all interest in begging anyone to fix the political system
NOTEBOOK: The forest is burning, so quit arguing about single trees
Past feels like blurry watercolor, not like the history of real people
Once you taste what is possible, you can’t accept being ‘normal’
If you accept that you’re a fool, being wrong is a lot less scary