Being Authentic

I read a book entitled 9 Things You Simply Must Do to Succeed in Love and Life by Dr Henry Cloud. It is an awesome book that highlights healthy habits that can enhance your life if applied. One chapter deals with humility. Dr Cloud offered a definition of humility that set my perspective on a very helpful tilt: "humility is not having a need to be more than you are".



Why do I need to be more than I am in the eyes of others?

I think there is a difference between healthy ambition and the need to appear greater than I am. I think this need to appear more than I am is motivated by a healthy desire for acceptance. A need for acceptance is an evolutionary advantage. Being part of the pack means survival. This idea is harder to appreciate in America's independent culture. I love the Psychology Today magazine. An article I read years ago cited an interesting research project that is relevant to this idea. The researchers were using monkeys and observing their social behavior. They observed the tendency of the more social monkeys to constantly reach out to the loners. I do not remember who conducted this research project or the research question. The thing about the study that has lingered in my memory is the apparent assumption on the part of the social monkeys. They continuously reached out to the loners despite the loners' consistent detachment because they had an innate assurance that the loners would be better off among the group. I think that is a profound example of the tendency for many animals (humans included) to seek acceptance in a community. Even though my desire for acceptance is perfectly natural and good, I want to grow to a point where I attract it without employing unhealthy habits (e.g. being less than authentic).




Being Known + Being Loved and Respected = Real Connection (Intimacy)

I believe we all have a common desire to be accepted. We want to be known. Therein lies the rub, right? The desire to be known creates a problem. We want to be known AND loved and respected. This creates a problem because we all have at least a few less-than-lovable traits. Sometimes, it feels like it would work better as an either-or situation: I could EITHER be known OR loved and respected but wanting both can feel unrealistic. We are all imperfect. I believe our motivation for love and respect is so strong that we often try to present an impression of what we think an acceptable self would be. This does not, however, create real connection. Andre Gide said "It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for something you are not." True, but difficult to practice.



I love impressionist paintings. Many early critics of impressionist painting devalued the lack of detail in the work. By definition, an impressionist painting gives the viewer an impression of a scene. This works beautifully for art (in my opinion) but not so well for character. Trying to get real connection by presenting an impression of what I think an acceptable self would be is like trying to quench my thirst with warm water. It is deeply dissatisfying in that it gets me so close to what I want without actually allowing me to experience it.


If you view me from a distance, I am quite impressive. Up close, however, the image changes. I am impatient, dismissive, and entirely too similar to those loner monkeys I mention above. Those are the flaws I am willing to share. Imagine what I am holding back. Not pretty. If admiring from a distance, I present the impression of a good person. Up close, you see the details I lack. That up-close vantage point is scary. It is what I want to hide. I have learned, however, that the up-close vantage point is the one I have to share if I want to experience real connection. Being loved and respected for who I pretend to be is not nearly as satisfying as being loved and respected despite who I really am.



Being accepted by family is wonderful, but being accepted by a friend is amazing. I especially appreciate the acceptance of my friends because they choose to love me. They are not obligated to be in my life. They know me and choose to remain connected with me. My friend Kate taught me this lesson. She was the first friend who knew almost everything about me. I am strangely adept at compartmentalizing my life (not an entirely good skill). Most of the people who know me only know the one or two segments of my life that I allow them to see. I do not think I am unique for compartmentalizing, but I am unique in that I am so adept at it. My many facets include the would-be musician, the poet, the fiction writer, the teacher, the Christian apologist, the agnostic, and the handful of facets I never share in mixed company. My friendship with Kate, however, shocked me because she somehow infiltrated every area of my life. Her tendency to observe without judging disarmed me. She saw my ugliest, most vulnerable sides and loved me anyway. Sometimes, people see my ugly sides and they tolerate them. Kate did not merely tolerate me. She loved me. That kind of friend makes me feel celebrated. Ironically, the fact that she never told me to change actually inspired me to change. The freedom I felt in our friendship allowed me the space to reflect and aspire to a better me. Life's circumstances have caused us to lose touch, but I will always be grateful for the deep impact she had on my character.



My Commitment

I was drinking my morning cup of coffee when this analogy of impressionist paintings arose several months ago. Whenever I have these new ideas, I journal them to flush out any underlying thoughts. I like to challenge myself by setting new commitments. Here are the 3 commitments I set after flushing out this impressionist idea:

1. When I meet new people now, I do not focus on impressing them. I exercise this commitment by shifting my focus to sharing something authentic. I know this might sound over-simplified, but I am a huge believer in the powerful effect of a slight shift in focus. Imagine this... You are on your way to a party. Let us say you can have two different focuses: everyone in the party is anxious to mingle with you or everyone in the party thinks you are a pretentious idiot unworthy of their attention. Your focus is like a sieve that shrouds your heart; each experience you have will pass through that sieve thereby determining your perception. A person's greeting could be perceived as a curt blow-off or a playful passing comment depending on the focus you have when you enter the room. The slight shift in focus I mention above, therefore, colors every comment I make and creates the opportunity for real connection. It is difficult to truly be authentic if I am struggling to cover imperfections. I share whatever feels real and relevant in the moment with less fear of how it makes me look. Paradoxically, this offers a relief despite being a more vulnerable way of presenting myself.


2. I continuously release my need for praise. Remember that book The 5 Love Languages? My love language has always been "words of affirmation". I have always craved verbal approval. Releasing this need, allows me to approach people without a need for their approval. If I do not need their approval, then I have little need to be less than authentic.


3. I continuously release my expectations of others. I hope my friends continue to be in my life, but if for some reason someone chooses to disconnect or if life's circumstances create a disconnection then I do not resist it. I imagine myself as a leaf floating atop a rushing brook. Life is the rushing brook and I let it carry me without fighting it. No matter what happens, I can choose to be happy. Wayne Dyer once said (I am paraphrasing) there is no way to happiness, happiness is the way. Virginia Woolf is quoted as saying "Arrange whatever pieces come your way". If I told myself my expectations must be met before I can experience happiness, then I greatly reduce the likelihood of my own happiness. If I, however, release my expectations and tell myself I can create my own happiness no matter what occurs then I greatly heighten the likelihood of my own happiness.

Copyright (c) 2009 by Quandra T. McGrue