The Courage to Be Ordinary

Why authenticity is becoming one of the rarest virtues in modern life

One of the more curious features of modern life is just how much time we spend managing the impressions we leave on other people. We choose our words carefully in meetings, laugh at jokes that are only mildly amusing, avoid asking questions that might make us appear uninformed, and often suppress opinions that we suspect would be unpopular. None of this usually feels dishonest. Rather, it feels like ordinary social life. We learn, often from an early age, that fitting into society requires a certain amount of self-control and sensitivity to the expectations of others.

Sommarnöje, by Anders Zorn. 1886. Public Domain.

There is, of course, nothing inherently wrong with this. Every society depends upon shared conventions. We take turns speaking, say “please” and “thank you,” dress differently for weddings than for gardening, and generally try to avoid causing unnecessary offense. These are not arbitrary burdens but part of what makes cooperation possible.

The difficulty arises when we lose sight of the distinction between courtesy and performance.

Somewhere along the way, many of us begin to wonder not simply whether we are behaving appropriately, but whether we ourselves are acceptable. The question quietly shifts from How should I act in this situation? to What kind of person do I need to appear to be? When that happens, authenticity becomes increasingly difficult because our attention is directed outward rather than inward. We begin to see ourselves through the imagined eyes of everyone around us.

Man in white tie. Photograph from 1931 by Zsohár Zsuzsa. Public Domain.

The sociologist Erving Goffman famously argued that social life resembles a theatrical performance. We all present different versions of ourselves depending on the audience and the setting. The way we behave in a job interview differs from the way we behave around close friends, and neither resembles how we act when we are completely alone. Goffman’s point was not that people are insincere. Rather, he suggested that social interaction inevitably involves impression management. We are constantly reading situations, anticipating expectations, and adjusting our behavior accordingly.

More than half a century later, his observations seem more relevant than ever. Social media has expanded the stage dramatically. Professional networking encourages us to cultivate a personal brand. Even leisure activities often become opportunities to demonstrate that we are adventurous, productive, healthy, or successful. We are surrounded by subtle reminders that we are not simply living our lives but displaying them.

Perhaps we become so accustomed to these performances that we forget they are performances at all.

Family on beach in Finland in 1945, photograph by Väinö Kannisto. Public Domain.

One of the reasons sociologists find children so fascinating is that they have not yet fully learned the invisible script that governs adult life. Young children ask questions that adults would never ask. They express excitement, frustration, embarrassment, and curiosity with relatively little concern for how those emotions will be received. Gradually, however, they learn which behaviors are rewarded, which interests are admired, which emotions are acceptable, and which aspects of themselves should remain hidden. None of these lessons are usually taught explicitly. They are absorbed through thousands of small interactions until they simply feel like common sense.

An interesting parallel can be found in the experiences of many autistic people. A common theme in autobiographical accounts is the feeling that everyone else seemed to possess an invisible rulebook that they had somehow missed. Social expectations that neurotypical people often absorb almost unconsciously—when to make eye contact, how long to pause before speaking, how much enthusiasm is appropriate, when someone is joking rather than speaking literally—may instead have to be consciously studied and learned. Many autistic adults describe the exhausting practice of "masking": carefully observing the behavior of others and imitating it in order to avoid standing out or being misunderstood.

Two nude boys walking down road to swimming hole in 1919. Photographer unknown. Public Domain.

Their experiences remind us of something profound. The rules that govern everyday social life are not laws of nature. They are cultural expectations that we gradually internalize until they appear obvious. Those who do not absorb them automatically often reveal just how constructed they really are. In that sense, autistic experiences, like those of travelers, immigrants, or sociologists themselves, can help make the invisible visible.

This realization invites an uncomfortable question. If so much of our social life consists of learned performances, how much of ourselves remains underneath them? That question is not meant to suggest that we should abandon courtesy or ignore the needs of others (in fact, the consideration of others is central to our philosophy). Civilization depends upon mutual consideration. The problem is that the habits that make society possible can also become habits that distance us from ourselves. We become so skilled at presenting acceptable versions of who we are that we gradually lose confidence in simply being who we are.

This, I think, is one of the deepest purposes of genuine community. A real community is not one in which everyone thinks alike or shares identical beliefs. Rather, it is one in which the cost of honesty is relatively low. It is a place where people can admit uncertainty, acknowledge mistakes, ask naïve questions, or change their minds without fearing that they will lose their place within the group. Trust grows not because people are perfect, but because they no longer feel compelled to maintain perfect performances.

That, more than anything else, is what I hope the Community of the Cosmic Divine can become. The clothing-optional aspect of the Community often attracts the most attention, but it has never been the central idea. The larger aspiration is to create a place where people can gradually lay aside the many masks that modern life encourages us to wear. Those masks may involve status, politics, wealth, education, appearance, or countless other forms of social performance. Whatever shape they take, they all pose the same question: Will people still accept me if they see me as I really am?

Perhaps authenticity is not the absence of social conventions. Perhaps it is simply the confidence to know that beneath those conventions there remains a person who no longer needs to earn the right to belong. None of this, of course, is meant to endorse a self-centric attitude, where we demand others include us no matter how rudely or unpleasantly we behave. Rather, it is meant to encourage being true to oneself; to show others our true selves and thereby finding genuine connections on a human level. In essence, our Community isn’t about showing our physical bodies to the world, but about showing our spiritual selves without veils.

In an age increasingly defined by performance, that kind of ordinary honesty may be one of the most extraordinary things we can offer one another.