Seeking Authenticity
By Vaughn Roycroft | October 1, 2024 |
I’ve been thinking a lot about the word authenticity lately. I know it’s still early in the setup, but I feel like we should get our usual definition out of the way. No worries, it’ll only take a sec.
au·then·tic /ôˈTHen(t)ik/
1: not false or imitation; of undisputed origin : genuine, real, actual
‘an authentic cockney accent’
2: true to one’s own personality, spirit, or character
‘is sincere and authentic with no pretensions’
3: worthy of acceptance or belief as conforming to or based on truth
Look at that list of defining terms! Genuine, real, actual, true, worthy. Such an admirable word.
Now back to our previously scheduled essay setup. Here’s how this marvelous word got lodged in my noggin. My wife and I recently joined another couple on a guided group tour. Group tours are not our usual mode of travel or tourism, as my wife is an incredible travel planner. But our friends were going to an area of the world we’d never seen—the Canadian Maritimes—and we figured what the heck. Turns out a trip like this has its pluses and minuses, but as travel usually does, we came away enlightened and inspired. On the plus side, we had an extremely enthusiastic and energetic guide, whom we quickly came to adore. Let’s call him Mickey. In addition to being a great guide, he was a blast to be around.
Besides our friends, we were also traveling with 26 others—all Americans, mostly couples, mostly our age or older. As we all know, our country is quite divided these days. During several days of living in fairly close proximity, it soon became apparent that some of our fellow tourists were… shall we say, influenced by their exposure to an algorithmic bubble into which we don’t venture.
When I say Mickey was enthusiastic, I’m not exaggerating. He dressed in costumes (including a stint as Anne of Green Gables), performed region-themed introductory song & dance routines, wore theme-coordinated socks, led singalongs, and produced and played the lead in skits featuring our fellow travelers. At some point during the tour, Mickey offhandedly revealed to the group that he has a husband. Reader, we were not shocked to learn that Mickey is a member of the LGBTQ community.
As someone who has been surrounded by gay friends and family all my life, I would not have blinked twice at what was an unassuming revelation. Still, given the mixed company, I couldn’t help but gauge the reaction of the group. After all, I don’t think I’m out-of-bounds in saying that within our divided country, there is a division that is far less accepting of this particular societal patch of our colorful national quilt.
As an aside, I’m happy to report my confidence that each and every member of our group ended the tour feeling as fondly toward Mickey as we do. In fact, I find myself hopeful that when those who go home to a certain algorithmic bubble, and within it they hear rhetoric that advocates for stripping the rights of others, including the right to marry whomever one loves, they think of Mickey. I can’t believe that anyone on that tour, who came to know our fabulous guide, and to hear about his husband and their lives together, can believe that Mickey does not deserve his marriage.
At the end of the tour, during our final dinner together, Mickey very earnestly thanked us for allowing him to be his authentic self. He voiced his opinion that because of it, he was able to provide a better experience. I agree. Our guide had been open, honest, exuberant, funny, and even occasionally poignant. Because Mickey felt comfortable and confident in revealing his authentic self to us, we received a more enjoyable, fulfilling, and memorable trip.
Besides getting to know the genuine Mickey, I also spent my travel time doing a final read-through of my formatted upcoming release (book three of my debut epic fantasy trilogy). As I indicated at the top, the combination left me thinking. The enhancing value of authenticity obviously involves much more than something as relatively trivial as sharing one’s sexual orientation. Or any single facet of what makes each of us a unique, multi-faceted individual, for that matter.
I believe seeking our authentic selves, and striving to openly share what we find through our art is vital to maximizing what we and those who experience it gain in return. Care to explore the notion?
Subconscious Authenticity
When I first started writing, I sort of shielded myself, as one does. Rather than imagining I was actually seeking to produce something for others to read—and judge—I told myself I was doing it just for me. No need to share. Maybe someday. But for the moment I was merely exploring, playing on the page. The freedom I gained nurtured a free-flow of storytelling that was new and astonishing to me then. I have never quite experienced the like of it since.
In regard to those early days, I’ve often marveled at the fast flow of the landscapes, characters, and scenarios that gushed to mind. What came to me needed development–lots of it–but each new element felt like a vital piece of a mystery, and a vivid invitation to seek to solve it. In hindsight, I can see that was my subconscious mind’s way of seeking to get a firmer grip on issues I’d been grappling with all my life. It felt like there was an excited inner child sliding pictures and notes to me under a closed door. A door that could only be opened for the briefest instances, and only in return for the fee of hard work.
In hindsight, I can see that the roots of my stories were already well-established in the fertile soil of subconscious. I can see that what I nurtured to sprout and grow sprang from dreams that preexisted any dream of writerly success. Dreams that were unrestrained and unburdened by expectation.
I recognized the truth that had been buried there. Unharnessed and undisciplined truth. Looking at the definition above, yes, the elements that remain at the core of my stories are genuine. They are true to my spirit and worthy of my belief. What I received feels like a gift. Which serves to sustain my loyalty and belief.
The Authentic Storyteller
It’s true that in the 20 years since those initial explorations, I’ve evolved. I’m sure I’ve grown as a writer (as one would hope). Along the way to publishing my first book, I tried out many variations on my storytelling. My stories have expanded immensely, and gained considerable nuance. When I began, I had no real grasp of the themes I was delving. Still, I can see now that every time I strayed from the core truths of what came of those early days, I have paid a price for it. Usually in the form of derailment, and the time required to realize it, and to get back on track.
Staying true to the story has better resembled subconscious course-correction over time than a constant, conscious effort. But I believe it’s an unsought benefit of having worked toward a traditional deal over such a lengthy period. By the time I was readying my debut for publication, I understood. The only reason to publish was to produce something genuine, of undisputed origin.
I finally came to recognize that the most important thing about my books is that my stories are authentic.
The Authentic Author
Yes, I’m confident that I’ve strived to stay true. I’ve delivered a vision that’s of undisputed origin, loyal to what I describe above as a gift. However, I’m far less confident when it comes to being an author. By most standards, I’m far from authorial success. My promotional track record has been less than consistent, and my ongoing efforts lack zeal.
I’ve been extremely lucky to have gained the support of some wonderful reviewers, fellow authors, and super-readers. I would be nowhere without them. Also, I was astute enough to seek the best when it comes to cover art, and I’m sure my covers are responsible for more sales than most any other marketing effort I have made.
In spite of it all, I’m starting to see that authenticity might be the most important variable when it comes to striving as an author as well. I mean, shouting from the rooftops is not my style, and repeatedly posting about “my books, my books” doesn’t work anyway.
I’m starting to see that staying real—being true to who I am among readers—makes for the best course to success. As an indie publisher, every success is a mere enhancement to momentum. I’m starting to really believe that it’s not a race, that it’s just about forward movement, building on the sound foundation of authentic storytelling.
Perhaps my fumbling and stumbling along through the launches and promotion of three books over three years is providing a similar benefit to my lengthy path to publishing my debut. Perhaps if I seek to be authentic in every bookish interaction, every writerly interview… heck, in every tweet and comment, I will continue to course-correct toward my ideal readers. Who happen to be the best supplemental sales force known to the bookish realm.
Defining Authenticity For Yourself
You may be starting to see why I’ve been pondering authenticity for a while. It’s not an easy concept. It’s something each of us must define for ourselves. Deciding what stories are authentic is as individual an act as writing them. As an exercise, think about your current read. Or if you’re reading nonfiction at the moment, think of the last novel you read. For the moment, forget about readability. Doesn’t matter if the prose is solid, if the pages are turning, or even if it’s poetic. Does the story feel fresh, unique? Does it feel as though you’re being invited into another human’s worldview? Whether or not there are plot twists, does it continue to surprise you, keep you thinking, draw you back again and again?
Does it exceed mere immersion, and make you feel an inner longing? Perhaps even a longing you can’t quite put your finger on?
Or is it not quite that? Even if it’s thoroughly readable, does it feel familiar? Do you pick it up and go, “Oh yeah, this again.” Maybe it’s even feeling a bit predictable? Has it made you feel? Not just investment in the plot or interest in the characters, but genuine emotion?
Perhaps most importantly, do you think it will leave you feeling and thinking at The End? Do you think it will be memorable?
I’ll bet when you think about your favorites, you can still feel a sense of longing. Perhaps when you really think it about certain stories, your emotional memory can be incited. I’ll go out on a limb and guess that, given the right circumstances, perhaps reviewing a few key excerpts from a favorite, many of you could even be moved to tears. I know I can be.
In other words, you can feel the power of these stories’ authenticity as you consider them. I believe authenticity is a key factor in providing emotional resonance and memorability.
The Gift of Authenticity
At this point, it might not need to be said that authenticity in story is a gift to readers. Authentic stories broaden our worldview, show us that our empathy ought to be ever-expanding. They teach us how to be better humans.
Whether or not anyone finds that my stories fit their own definition of authenticity, I’ve found that striving for authenticity as a writer delivers its own rewards. And the lessons, too, are ever-expanding. In considering book three of my trilogy alone, I’ve come to see that:
*Heroism can only exist in humility. It can only be achieved in sacrifice. Donning it as a mantle automatically destroys it. Seeking to leverage it results in its opposite.
*Redemption can never actually be sought, it can only be granted. It is utterly dependent on the forgiveness of others. Only through humble and altruistic thought and action, free from ulterior selfishness, can redemption occur.
*Honor is not a possession. It can only be offered, never claimed. Only through humbly offering it to others can redemption truly be achieved.
These truths feel pretty darn timely to me. I can honestly say that I don’t think they would have come to me if I had not doggedly carried this story though to the conclusion that feels true to the original, subconscious intent. I believe it’s a version of this story that never would’ve been told if I’d sought mere publishing success rather than authenticity.
How can I consider that to be anything other than a gift?
Whether or not anyone considers my stories memorable, I’ve received a gift I need to cherish and remember, come what may of the books. It will serve to remind me that—regardless of sales or reviews or star scores—I am indeed enjoying a successful publishing career.
What’s your truth, WU? Are you striving for authenticity? Can you move yourself to tears thinking of authentic stories? Perhaps even your own? Are you learning any lessons along the way?
Vaughn Roycroft’s (he/him) teacher gave him a copy of The Hobbit in the 6th grade, sparking a lifelong passion for reading and history. After college, life intervened, and Vaughn spent twenty years building a successful business. During those years, he and his wife built a getaway cottage near their favorite shoreline, in a fashion that would make the elves of Rivendell proud. After many milestone achievements, and with the mantra ‘life’s too short,’ they left their hectic lives in the business world, moved to their little cottage, and Vaughn finally returned to writing. Now he spends his days striving to finish his epic fantasy series.
Hello Vaughn, and thanks for your post. I’d like to hone in on something you say in applying the story of Mickey the guide and his authenticity:
“I believe seeking our authentic selves, and striving to openly share what we find through our art is vital to maximizing what we and those who experience it gain in return.”
When you speak of “seeking our authentic selves,” I think I know what you mean. You are urging writers to free what’s true in their essential selves, what’s authentic to their unmediated presence. Otherwise, something untrue and inauthentic takes over. I think that’s hard to argue with.
At the same time, I’m not sure we can seek authenticity. As Popeye says, “I’yam what I’yam.” It reminds me of a comment made by someone giving advice to writers about self-promotion: “Mastering the art of being sincere is fundamental to success.” Imagine someone in front of a full-length mirror working on her sincerity.
Ultimately, one’s true self as a writer–especially novelists–can’t be invented or concealed. Not for hundreds of pages. It’s there in the voice the reader experiences in the story, the characters thinking and speaking the words. If the voice rings true, it’s authentic. Otherwise, not so much. But if I’ve misunderstood what you mean, please correct me. Thank you again.
Hey Barry — Hmm. I certainly see what you’re saying, and you make a good point. Perhaps what I mean when I say “seeking” more precisely resembles staying true to oneself. And by that I’m referring to resisting the temptation to simply take the much easier path of inauthentic presentation. I’m not sure if you’ve ever been advised to change your work. I have. Many times. The advice has often included abandoning major elements of my work that I’ve come to understand as being essential to my truth.
Maybe I’m a little slower, or was once more prone to seek the validation of doing what was advised in an effort to be saleable, lauded. But getting to where I am today took listening to an inner voice, which was often hard to hear. Finding my way to listening for that, versus hearing the many voices touting the easier, likely more profitable, path is what I’m referring to above as “seeking authenticity.” Maybe I’m patting my own back, but I’ve read quite a few books that feel to me like the author did the opposite.
Thanks for keeping me thinking. Writing these essays always helps me to understand what I think, and the conversation in the comments often enhances the process. You’ve certainly done that today.
Vaughn, your posts–and your conversations–never fail to hit a chord with me, and one of the reasons is their (and your) unflagging authenticity. I love this one.
Thank you, Tiffany! I feel the same about your posts–your chords always resonate with me. Your praise means a lot to me.
That’s “home in,” not “hone in.” Sorry.
“I’ve found that striving for authenticity as a writer delivers its own rewards. And the lessons, too, are ever-expanding.”
Well put, I’ve found this as well, Vaughn. That’s what gets me to my laptop.
Currently, I’m reading The Van by Roddy Doyle, nominated for the Booker in 1991. It will be one of my faves, I’m sure. It’s a bit old, but its authenticity shines bright and makes it fresher than any trend. It’s Dublin, pure Dublin, in 1990. It doesn’t matter I wasn’t in Dublin in 1990, I can feel it’s authenticity.
Congrats on your progress on the trilogy. I’m so glad to hear you’ve found the reward that authenticity brings.
Hi Ada — “It doesn’t matter I wasn’t in Dublin in 1990, I can feel it’s authenticity.”
Yes! This is exactly what I’m saying. As a reader I’ve had such a hit-and-miss year. Thinking about those books, about Mickey’s remark, and all of the things I’ve gone ahead and done in this series that so many will label as ill-advised, led me to today’s post.
I’m glad you got a handle on it, as that means you’re seeking it, too (which doesn’t surprise me). Also glad that you’re currently reading a surefire fave. Thanks for weighing in, and for your well-wishes and kind praise!
It’s funny how our worldview seeps into our work without us being consciously aware of it. And then there’s the opposite too, when we are aware and add those elements in, deepening our stories. I just finished the first book of Kristin Lavransdatter and talk about authentically Catholic!!! I’m loving it because I recognize myself in these characters, in their youthful exuberance, yielding to the temptation to sin, and suffering its consequences. It’s truth. It’s the best book I’ve read in years and what a pleasure it is to be so completely immersed in that world.
Hey Vijaya — So true about worldview. Makes me grateful that we have stories to help us broaden it. I’m so glad you just found an authentic read. Thanks for weighing in! Here’s to seeking, and finding, the authentic books that light up our lives.
“It felt like there was an excited inner child sliding pictures and notes to me under a closed door. A door that could only be opened for the briefest instances, and only in return for the fee of hard work.”
I love (love, love, love, love) this description of the subconscious mind, V.
Building on that thought, I believe an authentically delivered narrative shows the protagonist’s actions (via the hard work of the writer) reaching that door by –wait for it– authentic degrees. Take the reader by the hand and lead us to that place, one step at a time, sans shark jumps. Work that does that resonates with intentionality, which might be authenticity’s first cousin, taking the notes slid under the door, then shaping and guiding them with conscious, deliberate choices. The combination of deeply true + clarity of purpose = a worldview with the potential to be powerful and truly unforgettable.
Hey T — Yes, authentic degrees! Regarding intentionality, I think this is one of the biggest benefits of having worked this thing backwards (starting with Vahldan & Elan’s children’s story, and then writing “the prequel” tale). There have been so many invitations, and genuine lures, to going in and, say, change things in order to cast V&E in a better light–to make them more admirable or likeable. Which would’ve gone against true intention, and hence chipped away at authenticity.
Of course, changes have indeed been made, and some of them have been true gifts. Which is what I’m talking about with Barry, in the comment above. There have been changes suggested that have instantly resonated deeply, which often brought a new set of rewards at the story level. For example, a really wise story coach once suggested that perhaps Vahldan is a carver, and how that ties into his persona, his search for his authentic self. I think about the myriad gifts, all that feel so genuine, so true to Vahldan’s spirit (and the author’s), so worthy of a reader’s belief.
So I suppose the seeking is in the sorting. For me, anyway. Sorry about the TLDR post today, Boss. Can’t thank you enough for all of your incredible support.
If ever you worry about a post being too long, see my last post, haha. And I’m nodding over here because “the seeking is in the sorting” resonates. The kids behind the door in my basement often want to show me All The Things, so being choosy is essential. I suppose at that point the key is to know the story you want to tell, to help you mine and guide, mine and guide, mine and guide as you write.
I’m so excited for your third novel, in part because I know *you’ve* known the story you’re telling for years, and that’s what matters most of all. Write on, V.
Vaughn, this post is… moving, touching, and yes, authentic. So much of what you have expressed is how I process my writing life. And my own life experience.
“I’m starting to really believe that it’s not a race, that it’s just about forward movement, building on the sound foundation of authentic storytelling.”
This. I came to that same realization a few years ago, after losing my husband to cancer. It was a time of questioning what I was doing and why writing mattered. It’s all about storytelling, and for me about making sense of how we fit into the world around us. Why we feel what we feel, and how we engage with others as well as ourselves. Those glimmers of past memories open to us entirely new perspectives.
Thank you, Vaughn. This is a keeper post.
Hey Deb — First, I’m so sorry for your loss. But, yes, grief is something that morphs and perhaps fades, but never really goes away. And loss is one of the facets of our authentic self. Seeking to reveal those parts of us can feel scary, and perhaps unwelcome. But I believe they are the very things that make authenticity a gift. We can never know whom we’re touching and how. It takes a willingness to vulnerability, too. We can only partially perceive what we will gain in be return for the hard–and often scary–work we humbly offer up to the Universe.
Thanks so much for this lovely addition to the conversation. Here’s to ever seeking new vistas. Hugs to you!
Thank you, Vaughn. And hugs back to you! And aren’t hugs the very best? Even virtual hugs make me smile.
Vaughn, I sense the seeking (and often stumbling) nature of your main characters, Elan and Vahldan, in their movement toward their “true” selves, though the self seems rarely fixed, but always becoming. (I appreciate that reaching for the cookie even if the hand might be slapped.)
Coming from a person who is multiple selves—gracious, weaselly, brittle, expansive, sneaky—sometimes in the same day, I admire your forging of character through situation, desire and conflict. But those forged swords sometimes need re-tempering, as you’ve shown.
Hey Tom — Writing this one was a bit like yanking V&E through their fits, tantrums, and wallows, hoping to find glimpses of a shining spirit. I lived multiple versions of myself through the three days it took. Grumpy, Doubtful, Hopeful, Resigned, and now today, Grateful and Inspired by y’all. Sounds like we’re housing a couple of crews of dwarves, doesn’t it? Not sure about you, but as long as they don’t sing in the early hours. I’m still Grumpy until I find my way to Caffeinated.
I appreciate your appreciation of what I’ve struggled to produce with my frustratingly changeable characters. Your support means much to me. Heigh-ho, my friend!
Hi Vaughn. I hope you donned the red pigtails and had your picture taken and took the Green Gables tour. I lived in PEI for a short time as well as Nova Scotia. I’m presently on the opposite coast of Canada to avoid any more winters. When I lived in the Findhorn community of Scotland for a few years, I found my authentic self. I had dreamed of living there in the sixties and when I finally got there after 40 years it was better than I imagined. That feeling has never left me. So, I wrote an homage novel to Scotland about a legendary water horse that was never nor could ever be a monster.
Hey Veronica! That’s cool about your “Marit-times.” While I may not have actually donned the pigtails, I did pose next to a very fine Anne, at the Heritage Center. Next time.
So cool about dreaming of living in Scotland and then living there! That’s for sure one of those deep truths that led you to where you needed to be. And then led you to authentic storytelling, to boot! Thanks so much for sharing. I said to Mickey on that last day that our Canadian friends are the best sort of neighbors–always welcoming and kind, even when we Americans do so much to deserve otherwise. Thanks for that lesson, too!
Hi Vaughn:
Thank you for inviting us into the deep end of the pool. Some quick thoughts:
When Mickey thanked everyone for allowing himself to be his “authentic” self, I assume he meant he did not have to wear a mask, conform his behavior to what others might prefer, tamp down the natural enthusiasm and joy he might otherwise feel—and express.
Having grown up with a gay older brother, I’ve witnessed firsthand the pain and peril of the kind of inauthenticity Mickey was glad to put aside.
That kind of relief can be felt by anyone who feels like an outsider, who feels at risk of being unfairly judged, unjustly criticized, cruelly mocked, publicly shamed, etc. But does that mean, if we remove the risk, we suddenly become authentic?
Authenticity—like heroism, redemption, and honor (which you described beautifully by linking them to humility)—is a goal, not a state of being. We all feel more or less “like ourselves” around certain people rather than others. But absent those others, are we suddenly authentic?
Can authenticity only be achieved in solitude? Is meditation—or masturbation—the ultimate act of authenticity? My wife and I are very comfortable with each other, but there are still things we keep to ourselves.
“We don’t know ourselves by ourselves.” That was said to me by a woman friend in my twenties, and I’ve never forgotten it. It speaks to how much of our life is unconscious and thus unavailable to our own scrutiny until, often enough, someone points it out to us. This is often unpleasant—we are geniuses at letting ourselves off the hook—and it is particularly true of writers, thus the need for readers, editors, even (sigh) reviewers. But they are no more in possession of our true selves than we are. The idea reveals itself as ludicrous the minute it’s stated.
As I see it, authenticity cannot be separated from the effect of others on us, as much as we’d like to believe that we are being our “true selves,” a term I find meaningless.
Often, when we say we’re being authentic, we’re actually being less inauthentic than we might be given the circumstances—less inclined to resort to subterfuge, defense mechanisms, charade, deceit. What prompts the decision to act less inauthentically largely reflects the expected reaction of the others in the moment.
Which returns me to Mickey. I suspect that the reaction (or the “vibe”) of your group played no small part in his ability to be his authentic self. Had someone mocked him or responded with disdain or disgust, or “complained the manager,” things might have gone much differently. Then again, he might have not given a damn and acted as he did regardless. But that ability has come due to the bravery of a great many gay men refusing to be inauthentic before him.
My point—what we consider authentic is never expressed in isolation. Our authenticity or lack of it is always measured against the resistance, the derision, the contempt, the hatred that we fear we might encounter.
Wonderful post. Made a lot of us think a little bit more deeply about something quite important. Be swell, brother.
Hey David — I think you’re right about Mickey, although we may find out more precisely at some point, as my wife shared a link to the post with him. I also had a gay older brother, and have witnessed the same as you very aptly describe. Which might be part of why Mickey’s remark meant so much to me.
Some really thought-provoking points about how the authenticity is dependent on others. I feel the truth of it, although I hadn’t consciously considered it as I wrote the piece. Makes me glad I shared it with others. I’m guessing you feel as I do, that the essay at the top of the WU page is just an elaborate invitation to more conversation. I never come away at the end of my pub day feeling the same as I did when I begin typing. Which is a beautiful thing.
Thanks for sharing your next level thinking. All swell here–we’re actually starting to feel a bit of autumn. Will try to send it on your way. Cheers!
No need. Autumn is definitely here.
David, I absolutely agree with this. ““We don’t know ourselves by ourselves.” That was said to me by a woman friend in my twenties, and I’ve never forgotten it. It speaks to how much of our life is unconscious and thus unavailable to our own scrutiny until, often enough, someone points it out to us.”
Thank you for sharing.
Good news: Book 3 is coming!
And to your post, what is this writing thing if not the means to not only discover our stories but to discover ourselves. In storytelling, we meet ourselves, what’s strong, what’s fearful, what matters to us. And I mean, isn’t that all by itself enough reason to write?
Good post.
All true, and yet I continue to have to relearn and remind myself that it’s all about the discovery. I’ve often said it’s the most meaningful undertaking of my life, and that belief has only been cemented as part of my truth.
Thanks for being a such a significant part of this, my most meaningful endeavor, Don. Hope everyone is well at your house.
Thank you for some really good things to think about, and thanks in general to the comments crew! You have all definitely come through this time.
I sometimes think about authenticity in opposition to writing books to cater to a supposed audience rather than coming from the heart. Perhaps it’s a combination of many of the things discussed above. We can only be authentic in relation to others, but we have to first of all be true to ourselves.
Hi Kristin! Yes–you’ve gotten to the very heart of what drove me to write the essay. Trying to stay true to ourselves. For me it’s the vital thing. Thanks! Have a great weekend.
– “It felt like there was an excited inner child sliding pictures and notes to me under a closed door.”
What a beautiful analogy, one that resonates deeply with me. 🥹
In fact, this post is chock-full of insights. A couple more favorites:
– “In hindsight, I can see that the roots of my stories were already well-established in the fertile soil of subconscious. I can see that what I nurtured to sprout and grow sprang from dreams that preexisted any dream of writerly success. Dreams that were unrestrained and unburdened by expectation.”
– “I’m starting to really believe that it’s not a race, that it’s just about forward movement, building on the sound foundation of authentic storytelling.”
Thanks for sharing your reflections on authenticity, and your journey. Always a pleasure to read.
Kristan! As it is always my great pleasure to hear from you, my old friend. Man, sometimes I think about those very early days of commenting on WU, when I was first trying to wrap my arms around even what I was really hoping to accomplish, and had not a clue about how to go about it. You’re younger (obv), but you were more like the adult then. Thanks for always being an inspiration!