We’re back at moment-to-moment choices. Will you be open, transparent, up front, honest, or will you hide things, deceive, go behind people’s backs, fool?

Above board originated in card games where you keep your hand on the top of the table to prove there’s no cheating.

Underhanded is when you hide something under your hand.

What strikes me about “above board versus underhanded” is how painful the underhanded path is. You’re managing multiple versions of reality, covering up, worried you’ll be found out. It’s a full-time job that pays in anxiety.

People who operate this way often convince themselves they’re being strategic or sophisticated. They think transparency is naive, that successful people play angles. But they’ve confused complexity with wisdom. Keeping your cards visible isn’t simplistic – it’s liberating. You get to use all your mental energy for actual living instead of storytelling.

Underhanded creates constant fear because you’re always concerned that you and your actions will be discovered. You can act noble and untouched as if you have integrity, but when people find you out and get close to the truth it either makes you own up or run away pretending. You become hypervigilant, always scanning for who knows what. Even your victories feel hollow because you know they’re built on concealment.

What’s powerful about the above-board choice: when someone questions you or challenges you, you don’t have that sickening lurch of “oh god, what do they know?” You simply respond. There’s nothing to defend because you haven’t built anything false. Your position might be unpopular, your choice might be questioned, but you’re standing on solid ground.

The crisis isn’t when you’re discovered. The crisis was back at the first moment you chose underhanded over transparent. Every lie after that just compounds the original choice.

Consider two people. One gets caught in a deception at work and quits before facing consequences. But they carry it everywhere – rehearsing answers to “why did you leave?” The slick lie of “I moved on” never plays out well. They thought silence and quitting ended it. It didn’t.

The other person made a real mistake and said, “You’re right. I did that. I was wrong. Here’s exactly what happened. I understand if you can’t keep me, but I’m asking for a second chance.” They might get fired anyway. But they walk out whole, nothing chasing them.

You can walk back into integrity any time. One honest conversation. One “here’s what actually happened.” The fear of that moment is usually worse than the moment itself. And what’s on the other side? The simple freedom of having nothing to hide. Peace with the truth.

Thanks – Michael (he, him)

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This is also important – Truth Matters.

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