I sometimes struggle with my authenticity. Let’s be honest, I am really weird. I have a twisted sense of humor, I cuss a LOT, I love to laugh, and I love a good bourbon. I love Jesus, I love to make things with my hands, and I would LOVE to learn how to do woodwork. I love being prissy but don’t mind getting wood stain and sawdust on me. I love yoga and one day want to visit India. I want to travel the world but I need someone to take charge and show me the way. I have social anxiety and sometimes have a bad resting bitch face but I also love to go out to eat at good restaurants. I’m kind but sometimes I don’t always think about people in the way they’d want to be treated. I want to love them the way I want to love them. I don’t want to chase money and wealth but I really want a beachfront house in Port Saint Joe, Florida.
I seem like a walking contradiction but I’m all of these things and more. My authentic self has a broad scope. The journey to figuring out myself and who I really am has been filled with lots of doubt. I used to think that I couldn’t be prissy and love to work with my hands. Girls with manicured nails couldn’t possibly pick up a sander and sand the heck out of a dining room table. But they do. I did. I’ve sometimes wondered if I were more like everyone else that perhaps I would be more likable. So I’ve tried to just blend in and that was pretty boring. I used to only wear clothes that resembled storm clouds. Blue, black, gray, and brown. Those were the go-to colors. But one day I woke up and asked myself why.
Why should I try to fit into a mold rather than just be the original? So you know what I did? I started wearing whatever color I thought was pretty. I started wearing whatever style I thought looked good. Yeah, I wear a lot of bright, like REALLY bright clothes. Yeah, I have a large bejeweled lips necklace. And, yeah, some days it looks like Picasso dressed me. But it’s me. I wear it because I like it. I don’t know that I care what people think of my shirt that has hidden skulls in it or my tie-dye shoes.
The same way I’ve struggled with authenticity in my attire, I’ve struggled with authenticity in my writing. Sometimes it’s like I’m holding back because I don’t want to offend or disappoint people with the things I have to say. I don’t want people to think that I’m a heathen riding in the first hand basket to Hell but I am not always writing about the spiritual part of my life. It doesn’t mean that the spiritual part of me is any less authentic. My roots are grounded in a faith that includes a very personal relationship with my God.
I’m slowly finding ways that I can be more comfortable in sharing the entire scope of my writing. God gave me a creative brain that, I promise you, is vaster than the ocean. I can visualize stories in almost any genre and I guess that’s also part of why I can appreciate anyone’s authenticity. We are who we are. The good, the bad, and the masks we wear to shield the world from our authenticity. Never be ashamed of who you are or what you love to do. If you love to eat hot dogs 365 days a year, go for it. If you like to wear all black, all year, wear it. Take the masks off and let people see you for who you are, what you do, and who you love. Stop pretending or working so hard to fit into someone else’s mold of who you should be. Society may want you to live a life that isn’t you. And life is too short to be anything less than authentic.
Messpot Diaries 