The authenticity spectrum
We don't exist alone, and so our authentic self must be understood always and only in relationship to others and the world we live in.
As I prepare to leave for another work trip far away from home, I find myself grappling with familiar anxieties. Am I ready for the intensity? Why is it that I dread the thought of a whirlwind of social interactions beforehand, but seem to do okay when I'm actually there?
This led me to read about two of the great philosophers' takes on authenticity. Martin Heidegger sought authenticity in being alone, "away from the corrupting influence of others". Meanwhile Karl Jaspers said that we can only ever exist in the world with others. We don't exist alone, and so our authentic self must be understood always and only in relationship to others and the world we live in.
I suppose all of us, if we really think about it, are torn between our individuality and the wholeness of the world.
I feel very lucky that my job allows me to go to so many places, work with people from across the globe, but gratitude has its limit.
There are many times I find myself craving for the days in lockdown. When I could just go for a walk because there was no one out on the street, not a soul, just the sound of cats. And dogs. And wind through the trees. When the sounds of birds turned into scary ambulance sirens, I didn't mind it still. My privilege sheltered me. I am aware of how terrible it sounds, but it is the truth. I could cook when I felt like it, I could work on recipes, I could spend time how I wanted to. I could be, and had to be, alone, and it was liberating to not have to justify it.
I am not sure which one of me is authentic. Am I the one who craves solitude and wants to be left alone? Or am I truly me in a tournament, surrounded by people? People cheering, stadium anthems on full blast, people running around doing their work, being a small cog in the big machine, ensuring everything comes together perfectly... it fuels me, brings me joy.
The last couple of years have been particularly intense. I have travelled a lot. I enjoyed myself during these tournaments. I felt happy to be around people, around colleagues I usually only exchanged carefully worded emails with, or saw in a tiny screen where much of the time simply went in asking if we could see their screen.
When I'm "on-site", we are living together for weeks at end. Days basically look the same. When you're staying in a hotel for weeks, you know that the breakfast menu doesn't change much. You notice how the hotel tries to keep you on your toes by changing the layout slightly, putting the fruits where the bakery items were one day and switching them back the next. As if we don't notice.
During tournaments, I enjoy spending my days with these colleagues and work friends. There's no "as I mentioned in my previous email" energy. Work-wise, we're in solution mode, we resolve things quickly. There's no need to exchange seven emails to set up a call that still ends without a conclusion.
Living together for long periods of time also means we (often are forced to) socialise outside of the intense matchdays. We go for dinners on the few rest days that we get or go and see some sights in the city we're in. Once, we were adventurous enough to sign up for a race on the day of the final. It was my first ever 10k, and it was fun because I had friends with me. During a tournament, there is not much of a life to keep in balance. But when we see each other in the gym, and nod a courteous hello, that is us trying to keep a semblance of the "life" in work-life balance.
So which one am I truly? Am I the one who craves solitude, who wants to have quiet dinners and stay-at-home scenes with my partner and close friends, enjoys walks alone listening to that one playlist, and time with my cat? Or am I the one who wants to have people around me in the tens and twenties, who sometimes even initiate outings? I wonder, and I have been wondering this even more lately.
Nietzsche: "How can man know himself? It is a dark, mysterious business: if a hare has seven skins, a man may skin himself seventy times seven times without being able to say, “Now that is truly you; that is no longer your outside.”"
My experiences working on tournaments have furthered my understanding of solitude and social interactions. During these intense periods, I'm thrust into constant interaction, teamwork, and shared purpose. The energy is infectious, and I find myself thriving in these collaborative environments. But when I am back home after a month, I just want to be left alone for a while, partake in only small scenes, spend time with family, and meet close friends. Sometimes, even catching up with close friends who I haven't seen in a long time can feel daunting.
As I prepare to leave for another tournament later this week, I feel the familiar mix of anticipation and apprehension settling in. The nerves aren't just about the work ahead, but about summoning the energy required to match the tournament's intensity.
Perhaps I am authentic when I dangle between both these versions of me. I am reminded that I need both in a delicate balance. Perhaps, in the end, it is less about choosing a fixed identity, and more about just being fluid, or at the very least, accepting that our identify shifts in time and circumstances. And we are not being inauthentic in the process.
Knowing this internal tug-of-war is not a bug, but a fundamental feature of who I am is comforting. This understanding certainly doesn't eliminate the conflicting feelings, but it does provide a sense of peace. Which is enough for now.