Authenticity and the Introverted Bard

My word for the year last year, as you may remember, was 'authenticity'. I've been choosing a word to steer by each year since about 2014, but I found this to be one of the most meaningful and powerful - I am still feeling its effects throughout my life. Particularly in the latter half of the year when money became tight, events felt out of my control and I had to contend with the all-pervasive and visceral nature of grief and loss, keeping my focus on living authentically meant that I was able to forgo a lot of bullshit and avoid performing the complicated dance of people-pleasing. 

Being authentic, it turns out, involves owning your needs and being unapologetic about them. It means being honest, being imperfect, and being okay about being imperfect. It means getting okay with discomfort - my own, and other people's. For me, this was quite a radical thing. Not rushing to fill uncomfortable silences, not prefacing every thought with "Sorry, but..." , not rushing to smooth things over or taking personal responsibility for everyone else's experience. Not constantly wondering, "Did I come across weird there?", not striving to micromanage everyone's perceptions all of the time. 

It meant accepting how much emotional energy I had to give and not over-committing. It meant not agonising over composing perfect texts. It meant being more direct than I have ever been. Sometimes it meant facing up to mistakes and looking at how I could do better next time. I noticed that I stopped avoiding eye contact, or feeling silly if I didn't always have a pithy response ready.

Authenticity as a practice is both freeing and scary. One of the biggest things it gave me was the freedom and strength to speak at my father's funeral. Until the very last moment, I wasn't sure if this was something I could do. But I did - I probably rushed a bit, as I was nervous, but I didn't hyperventilate, or panic, and when I tripped over my words I was a able to gather myself and carry on without feeling embarrassed. I've rarely been so proud of myself.

This held relevance for my spiritual life as well. The first grade in many formal Druidic orders is that of Bard. As a lifelong writer, I felt some kinship with this idea - I'm a great believer in nurturing and developing our creative expression. I'm a published poet and previously performed once or twice with a bellydance group (although I got so anxious about this that I stopped, a good few years ago now). But my mental image of a bard was of someone who is comfortable on a stage, a talented musician, performer or storyteller, and that is definitely not me. I once stumbled over my words reading out a poem I'd written at a writing class, and instantly froze, unable to continue - I had to pretend I'd only written a single verse! 

There are, doubtless, innumerable ways to express oneself as a Bard, by the way - I certainly don't think that getting to grips with public speaking is an intrinsic part of Druidry! But to me, as someone who loves stories and the art of storytelling, it feels like an important step to get more comfortable with being able to express myself to an audience.

I'm not a brilliant orator, and I don't know that I'll ever be a fully confident performer. But the power of authenticity has shown me that I am capable. I'm not as frightened of people as I used to be, and I have really come to understand that mostly everyone is worrying about their own stuff, rather than scrutinizing me or expecting perfection. Storytelling, or even speaking out loud in front of others, no longer feels like an impenetrable realm accessible only to the extroverted.