Escaping The Endless Cycle of Performance

Becoming estranged from myself—my personality, my true appearance, my talents—is something I constantly fear. I spend minutes of every day reading, writing, and even praying to become the best version of my authentic self. However, as the weather gets warmer, I slowly find myself feeling isolated from my peers. Parties, big events, and banal holidays bombard my feed every time I open social media, reminding me of my seemingly everlasting solitary state. The more I’m hit with this reminder, the lonelier I feel—and the more I write. Slowly, I realise there’s no one watching, no one who isn’t already preoccupied with their summer of felicity to notice what I’m doing.

Without an audience, everything begins to shift. There is no longer an urge to perform for others, only for myself—but a performance is still a performance, no matter who the play is for. So I find myself questioning: how do I stop performing and become authentic? And even more frightening—who even am I when I’m not performing, and do I like her?

I’ve spent countless hours reading books, watching films, writing articles, and listening to music—all of which I’ve done alone. However, I can’t stop thinking about how the people I choose to surround myself with, and even those I don’t, have had such a significant impact on these aspects of my personality. A fleeting mention of a film becomes a pivotal part of my identity, and a short sample of a song on the radio becomes the soundtrack to my summer. I begin to wonder: is this really me? Are my favourite films and songs true to who I really am, or have I been subconsciously influenced by people in real life—or even strangers online—to unwittingly become part of what’s merely a trend?

I don’t believe there’s a true way to stop performing—not for me. I feel as though I’m constantly being perceived, even if the audience is imaginary. This means I may never truly know if the persona I identify with is authentically me. But after hours spent ruminating on the idea of authenticity, I’ve begun to accept the unknown.

Maybe who I am—and who you are—is simply a collection of fragments: experiences, likes, dislikes, and mannerisms, not all of which are entirely our own. In my opinion, we don’t become ourselves through our singular, limited experience alone. As human beings, we need community to feel fulfilled. We must converse over a hot drink, laugh, cry, and be present with friends—for a single person can be deeply transformed by the company they keep.

We are not always performing—we are living and experiencing the human condition. The so-called imaginary audience is just the different aspects of ourselves watching as we flourish into a bouquet of all the people we’ve ever loved. To 'perform' in this way is not disingenuous; it is simply to connect with others and to be human.

So the next time I spend my days alone, endlessly wondering and worrying about all parts of my identity—so much so that I may even unintentionally distort them—I remember the people I love and have loved. Like a puzzle, all the segments come together to form a candid version of myself.

Though I’ve pieced together the existential thoughts that have been festering within me to reach this resolution, I know I still have a long way to go, and many more experiences to live, before I can truly accept that I am not an imposter in my own body. That I am here, shaped by my original beliefs and experiences. But to realise we are the product of all the things—and people—we love is the greatest step you and I could take in becoming more present, beyond our irrational fears of inauthenticity.

It is time to take a final bow for the audience that has lingered in our minds for far too long.

©Pinterest