I noticed that people do not appreciate honesty.

The thought came to me subtly at first, then struck me clearly.

An expression of honesty is often followed by emotional baggage in the form of opinions, accusations, and ultimatums.

For example, you come home after a long day at work or school. Your only motivation throughout the day that keeps you from a complete crash is the thought that upon arriving home, last night’s leftovers are waiting for you in the fridge. You’ve fantasized all day about how good it is going to feel to relax and eat your favorite food that you intentionally saved for this moment the night before.

When you check the fridge, you see that your food is missing. The trash can betrays the truth you want to deny. Somebody ate the food you set aside for yourself.

You yell to your family, “who ate my food!?” until your little sister says, “I did. I’m sorry.”

I’m sure a similar situation has happened to just about everyone. Think about what your response to your hypothetical little sister would be at that moment. Anger? Frustration? Would you groan and whine about how that was your food, you deserved that food, and your sister is a terribly inconsiderate person who can only think of herself? Would you complain and guilt your family by saying something like, “Now what am I supposed to eat?”

I would wager that most of us would react in some variation of the above. Very few of us would appreciate our little sister’s honesty and say, “Thank you for telling me. It’s okay. I will find something else to eat.”

Though our negative responses to honesty may not be completely groundless or necessarily wrong, being able to appreciate honesty before addressing feelings, takes real guts.

The example I give is simple and has incredibly low stakes compared to other circumstances, but you can apply the same logic to just about anything. Relationships. Friendships. Parent-child or teacher-student dynamics.

Even if we are fully justified in our feelings and responses, we cannot ignore the courage, vulnerability, integrity, humility, and truth that flows out of an honest word.

Our first reaction to honesty should always be to listen first, thankfully acknowledge the truth, seek clarification, and then respond. 

Our responses must come out of the most complete picture of information possible. This is not only crucial for avoiding unnecessary conflict, but it is perhaps more important for us to develop a habit of listening. If our lives depend on and consist of the relationships we build with others, to be careless with the way we listen and respond shows poor judgment and narrow interpersonal awareness.

I suppose our immediate responses are rooted in selfishness. Selfishness breeds conflict and blocks us from recognizing the emotions or perspective of the other. It strips away our empathy.  

Empathy is a craft. It is a good faith attempt to see things from another’s point-of-view, a conscious decision we must attempt in any given situation.

Rushed and negative responses to honesty compromise our ability to produce empathy.

Silence the stubborn desire to amplify fleeting feelings. In the face of honesty, choose empathy. Choose to listen.

We all have moments that mark us. Moments that define who we are and shape us in significant ways. 

My vocal “journey” was born out of such a moment. I’ve always loved words and have been fascinated with the ways our voices can fill a space, convey a message, and express emotion. Recently, I’ve been exploring voice as an extension of identity.

I discovered the true power in voice and spoken word in a moment where words could never be enough.

It was the summer of 2017. I was in Moldova visiting grandparents. Four years earlier in 2013, when I last visited Moldova, I made friends with some of the neighborhood kids.

One girl in particular, Vika, became a very good friend of mine. However, we were never able to maintain contact with each other and the connection was eventually lost by the time I visited four years later.

Even so, when Vika heard I was in Moldova she came to visit and say hello. 

I was inside the house when my grandfather called out to me saying we had visitors. I quickly put on some shoes and rushed out to meet Vika. To my surprise, Vika was not alone. She had a stroller with her and in it a baby who was about three months old.

The problem was not that she had a child, but it was the conditions in which she had a child. At the time, I was 18. She was 16. A man left her pregnant, then abandoned her with child. 

As Vika updated me on her life, I noticed her black teeth. In contrast, I had recently had my braces removed and was very proud of the beautiful teeth I had as a result. But in that moment, I couldn’t even smile. I found myself not even being able to make conversation. It felt like we were from two different worlds. I wanted to hide the very clothes I was wearing. Not out of pity, but out of humility and desire to shield her.

Although her spirits were up, I saw the depth of sadness, pain, and exhaustion in her eyes. I even saw shame. I saw something I had never seen before in a woman so young, in a child.

Just years before we were both dreaming about our future homes, husbands, kids, careers, and travels. Life’s unpredictable nature suddenly revealed itself to me.  

I think about that moment often. 

I think about how I opened my mouth, but words evaded me.

It helped me realize how sometimes, voice is an emotion felt, an understanding. But it also showed me the power words have. 

I learned to use my words carefully and only with intentions to edify and uplift. 

In that moment with Vika, I chose to encourage her to the best of my ability. I praised the beautiful life she created and welcomed her with open arms. Together, we reminisced about the nights we spent together talking and becoming friends. 

I used my words to create a safe haven for her with me. 

Today, I received a rejection letter.

I had been preparing to apply to this particular program since freshman year. The application took me over 3 months to complete. I put my absolute best foot forward and worked tirelessly to produce the highest caliber of work. In other words, I gave nothing less than excellence. 

My first thought after reading the letter was, “It’s a good thing I don’t believe in coincidences.” Because if I did, I would be incredibly disheartened. 

They say a bond between a father and his daughter is unbreakable, and I completely agree. My life is a testimony of this. I cannot think of a single person who contributed so richly to who I am personally and professionally other than my father, Vyacheslav Perjar.

“What if these obstacles are just part of the equation?” My father would always ask me this each time I presented a new difficulty, failure, or problem to him. 

My father has always had incredible problem-solving skills. To this day, I cannot think of a problem that I believe he could not solve. He taught me that there is always a solution to every problem and that no problem is without victories. 

My father taught me to look at failures and difficulties as opportunities. He encouraged me to judge every situation through a neutral lens and showed me how to find the truth in any circumstance. Giving up and opting out no longer became options for me. With my father’s guidance, I emerged with victory from every difficulty. Every hardship was a lesson learned and wisdom gained. 

So, my dad’s first reaction to news of my rejection to the program was joy. 

He reminded me that life does not often supply clear-cut answers. The fact that I received such a clear “no” was good news. For me, it means that God is protecting me from something or maybe preparing to open new doors for me. As a born-again Christian, I believe the Word of God which says, “I will go before you and make the crooked places straight; I will break in pieces the gates of bronze and cut the bars of iron” (Isaiah 45:2). 

Suddenly, that “no” became a building block I could step on to reach new heights. 

Reflecting back on my life, I can clearly identify how every rejection has led to a bigger project, better job, or surprising opportunity. Although disappointments are inevitable, obstacles reveal what we’re made of. I know my diligence will sustain success, so I look to the future with hope and confidence.

Today, I’m thankful for parents who encourage me. I’m thankful for silver-linings and small beams of hope. I’m even thankful for closed doors that allow me to see otherwise hidden opportunities.    

What if the obstacles you face are simply part of the equation that makes up your life? A way to clear your path or a vehicle to take you to your final destination… 

The best is yet to come.