I have a friend who is one of those rare people who can speak her mind without causing offense. Who can walk into a room full of friends as her authentic self, true to whatever mood she’s in, and be accepted. Whose hugs feel sincere, and whose wisdom you seek. She can call me on my bullshit in a way that feels loving and supportive. I’ve been trying to figure out for months how she does all that!
I’m sure there must be people who don’t like my friend, although I’ve seen no evidence of that. And it’s possible she shows a different side of herself to the public, although I’m sure not for long.
Maybe it’s her delivery. She has one of those faces that’s a bit hard to read until you get to know her, unlike mine which registers every thought and emotion. She often chuckles while she speaks, which maybe softens the message. She makes disclaimers like, “I’m sorry, but . . .” just before she tells you what she really thinks. She’s quick to call herself on her own bullshit, too, which just makes you trust her more. She says she’s not very creative, yet she appears to have something all creatives want . . .
One of the best-known secrets of artists of all types is that we long for authenticity. And when we can’t achieve it in our lives, we search for it in our work. We write love poems wrenched from the most vulnerable centers of our hearts. We paint pictures that give light to our darkest fears. We become one with our instruments as we express our joy. We cry tears on stage that we hold back in real life.
In our art, sometimes we manage to show up as our authentic selves, but often those selves surprise us. That’s why when you hear an interview with someone in the arts, there’s always that moment when the interviewer asks the artist a really personal question about their work, and the artist doesn’t know how to respond. That’s because our art is part of our journey through this life, and whatever it was that prompted us to create that art in the moment (a harsh word, a difficult memory, a newfound love) is only part of the story it has become.
Even for us, as time goes by, the art continues to reveal new layers of ourselves, until we’re not sure anymore what the art “meant” in the first place or even how we managed to create it. That’s why we stumble over those questions, because inspiration and creativity are not fixed, and neither is authenticity, although by definition, it feels like it should be.
And maybe that’s why I couldn’t figure out how my friend manages to always show up as her authentic self and be accepted, because maybe somewhere along the line she stopped trying to own her authenticity or define it and simply allowed it to be.
I have a feeling if I asked her how she stays true to her authentic self, she’d say, “Do I?”
And then she’d laugh.
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