For a while, it seemed like the way for me to get by in the world was to be inauthentic. I recoiled from that, inwardly if not outwardly, until I discovered my true self. Now, I’m realizing that it’s a circular path, and the difference between who I am, and who I think others want me to be, isn’t so different, after all.
It’s the agitations, frustrations, and irritations, and the way we adapt to them, that define who we are. A lot of times, I know what something is by knowing what it’s not. The part of me that knows who I am is at my center.
You’ll notice that I don’t give out advice, and generally drift away from handing out empty platitudes. I write for myself, but like being authentic, the difference between writing for myself and others isn’t so different, after all.