What is authenticity? It seems like a simple question. Authenticity is embracing who one really is. But, who is that?
I’ve come to the conclusion that I am a hundred different people. There’s a whole village in here. All of them share many of the same traits; those core notions that I believe manifest the superficial “true self” the question probes. But, that’s not who I am. That is a sort of impression, an approximation.
Instead, no matter how similar these “self personas” are, each is different, unique, and independent. Like the same song played in varied styles, at divergent tempos, and in different keys. They usually mesh well. When they don’t, the dissonance is more than conspicuous, and that’s when I know to check myself for bias or self deception.
At any given moment it feels as if I am traversing this multitude without conscious effort. Just observing. Listening.
Maybe *that* person, the faceless identity caught between the ebb and flow of intonations, is my elusive, authentic self? Or, perhaps authenticity isn’t a state of being at all, but rather being cognitive of the lack of rigid singularity?