Sorry, I'm not authentic...

When you are young all you seek and desire to be is yourself. To enjoy life, to play, laugh and dance in each moment. At some point along the way we are disciplined and expected to shrink ourselves down. To be quieter, to listen, to not be too much, or too little. Then to speak up, take responsibility, to make choices but still obey – it’s a very confusing mess.

Especially as a young girl, authenticity past a certain age was blasphemy. To express the full extent of the feelings being experienced was only to be met with a gasp or shake of the head. To not conform to societies expectations of beauty, was to be alienated. Amongst adults I’ve found authenticity only shines through in the smallest of moments. Maybe in the dilation of pupils in the eyes of a trusted friend, when they’re speaking about their true passion. Only to come out in the most vulnerable of moments, sometimes under a full moon over the reflecting ocean. Or in the doughy gaze of a lover pushing my loose strands of hair back over my ear and as they harbour a grateful smile.

To remedy the internal insecurity about whether I was experiencing true authenticity or not, I decided to escape my comfortable life near the ocean, studying a degree I adored, living with lovely people and surrounded by a city of friends that all supported me. To live alone for 4 months on a farm, 50km from any township, to find my way back to myself, and my authenticity.

Comically, almost through a spiritual experience, it was in the silence of one of the warmer days, after the few weeks of silently grieving my transition. When I was sun baking and a lone wedge eagle flew overhead. In that moment – it struck me I had the desire to become as wild as my environment and to finally figure out the answer. So, I closed my eyes and listened. Only to hear my inner voice:

You’re not authentic. Not even close.

Whilst I’ve been out here, I’ve had no one to impress, no expectations or shoes to fill. No job, no role to play, no one to show up for, honestly no one that cares that much if at all. So when I began asking the bigger questions, I learnt that despite this, I continue to hide the darkest parts of who I am from away from even myself.

This was especially prevalent when I recently turned 24. For the first time, I celebrated my birthday completely alone. Not so uncommon for many, but new to me. So, to complete my annual celebratory birth ritual I switched on the party lights, poured myself a glass and danced the night away to old records on my Dad's 1950s cabinet gramophone.

I floated back to days where I'd wrap a scarf around my head, grab a tennis racket, and transform into a rocker. Radio bird-man, the doors, stooges and violent femmes were our muses as I'd dance around the living room with my older brother and Dad. Creating a concert all of our own. Until we'd rock ourselves into the night, then into sleep.

Even amongst this nostalgic transportation, I still felt the anxious need to share it. So, I pulled out my phone to Instagram my friends. I couldn't bear being alone and I automatically needed to share my experience. Instead of facing the feeling of being alone – I hid behind a screen. A cultivation of joy, that was really only an empty sentiment to the past. Not a true reflection of how I was feeling.

Despite regular moments like these, I often – amusingly - catch myself denying my reliance on others. To be validated, to be seen. It's at the heart of so much that I've done in my life. I decided to move from my friends, community, work, all that I knew and was comfortable with - to challenge myself and leave behind this co-dependence. Not to alienate myself from the world or deny myself of my innate need for social interaction but to challenge my addictive need for external validation. However, I guess what I found instead is that I choosing to live differently isn’t enough. You actually have to live differently.

I will say that I’ve at least constructed what I believe authenticity to be. As I have immersed myself in nature. I have felt more accustomed to the wild animals. Their candour knows authenticity like an old friend. Greeting truth in their disinterest in what those in their environment think of them. Only concerned with how they can interact in their environment and those within it. They’ll mate in public, defecate, cry, sing, dance, fight and play – without a care, as for them life is not to be dwelled upon, but instead simply lived.

For me, that’s where authenticity lies. To be able to embody complete presence without the pressure or concern about external ideas of “you”. For the most part, I still sense myself standing outside this idealistic and glistening bubble of a carefree presence.

So, I have to admit that maybe authenticity hasn’t become a stark character trait of mine. As I still cherry pick every aspect of what I perceive I can control about myself. I enjoy the cultivation of an image and bolster it through a modern ‘cult of personality’ on social media. Even with those closest to me, as I still hide the aspects I deem unworthy of acceptance and love.

However, in my pursuit to learn more I think I’ve become a little more honest. The awareness gives me a sense of living in an often uncomfortable authenticity with my reality. I find these moments when walking through open paddocks, signing loudly as I wade through long grass to ward off snakes in the late spring and summer heat. Knowing that if I was bitten by one of the many deadly snakes in the area, my lack of phone reception and proximity to the neighbouring farms would leave me out of luck. Or moments late into the night where I may wake from a loud sound, only to convince myself someone is trying to break in; and in the event that they were, I have to confront the fear and my racing heart. Knowing that I am alone and have only myself to rely upon as any phone call made can only offer a 40 minute response to any emergency or danger.

When I think of the times I think I've come closest to authenticity, is when I put the phone down. I let go of shame, anxiety, the personality I attach myself to and step into a world of make believe. Shedding my skin to step back into my childlike nature. To forget everything and become another. The skies become a vast expanse, offering up layered platters of blue and white mist, shifting slowly over my kingdom I share with all the animals. Bird calls becomes song, and the insect buzzing becomes the sound of the days energy. At night the stars become guides. Flickering’s of inspiration as each has a story, a lesson, a character that sprawl across the dominion of the moon.

What I’ve been learning is to seek authenticity by stripping back the self, and make headway with my ego. The inferior aspects and the superior aspects of how I perceive myself – or in other words how I differentiate and separate myself from my outer world. I’ve gruellingly learnt its strange ways. I’ve begun to understand my ego’s nature and for the most part let it be as I’ve cultivated this awareness. That’s where I’ve found these moments that can be embodied. Where imagination becomes play and creativity becomes fused with life. The self seems to be not much more than a feeling, in a moment that has been stretched over time and laced with layers of meaning and familiarities. The ego becomes a sensitive friend I now nickname “Pumpkin” to offer understanding and compassion, rather than judgement or frustration with as it’s an inescapable part of my psychology – that truly only means to serve me.

Without authenticity it seems to me, is to exist in the space where our character lies. The person we like to play and embody. Beliefs, judgments and thoughts we attach to tend to sway our reactions and feelings. Memories and meanings that tether us to the people, places and things in our lives that pull on our strings like puppets. We play along with each of them and entertain their short-lived visitations to gratify our needs. However, in the end (and not to the fault but the nature of each of these temporary experiences, connections and things) we are only picked up to be dropped back down, over and over as we play our part. We continue over time to develop our characters and narratives within these things and forget that our authentic selves have all that is needed within.

As life is often more attractive when you play a part. The costumes, the lighting, the drama, the tragedy, the humour, the crowd, the anticipation and applause are all consuming. If you decide instead to drop the play, and drop the part. You will instead, find yourself immersed in a world where you lose your sense of self. For me that’s in nature, where I become like a child.

However, despite these fleeting moments in time and space where I escape the musings of my ego. I still find myself as a puppet each day. As in the end I’m always pulled back by the dazzling lights, the puppeteers and the praise. My strings pulled and played with only to be reminded when it’s over and on my decent back down that this is what “Pumpkin” wants, not my authentic self.

Hence I don’t claim I’m authentic, and may never truly be able to make that claim.