« And yet, what is bravery if not the willingness to be misunderstood? » I absolutely love this! There is a moment of silence in your mind when you realize that you might be completely misunderstood if you say a certain thing and yet it’s very important that you do. The world is learning slowly, but only thanks to the people that do not conform, that give honest opinions and are not afraid to speak their mind. Thank you for writing about this and most importantly for being so authentic it’s actually contagious!
For me there’s always that split second of hesitation, that mental pause where I weigh being understood against being honest. And then there’s this rebellious thrill in choosing honesty, even if it comes with raised eyebrows or awkward silences. It happens all the time to me :)
I think the world evolves precisely because of those moments, when someone chooses truth over comfort. And if authenticity is contagious, I hope we’re all catching it in droves!!! Thank you, Alexandra!
The courage to voice what makes us who we are is vital, not just for personal integrity but for the collective humanity we contribute to. Too often, the world subtly nudges us to trade authenticity for acceptance, to dilute our individuality for the sake of fitting in.
In a culture obsessed with metrics — likes, shares, followers — choosing to remain true to yourself is a radical act. It’s a reminder that we are more than what others perceive or expect of us. To voice what makes us us is not only to honor our own identity but also to inspire others to do the same. Courage is, indeed, contagious, and every act of authenticity creates a ripple effect in the world around us. Thank you for making us reflect on this!
Céline, your words always have such depth and insight, it’s truly a pleasure to read your perspective! You’ve captured the essence of what it means to be brave in today’s world. The idea of courage as contagious is particularly powerful; it’s like we each carry a spark that, when shared, can ignite others to embrace their true selves.
In a time when so much of our worth is measured by digital validation, standing firm in our authenticity feels like an act of rebellion against the current. It’s not just about staying true to ourselves; it’s about creating a space where others feel they can do the same. Your comment has given me so much to think about — thank you for adding such richness to this conversation!
All of your essays remind me of experiences, people, thoughts, even other essays, and this one does that again and again. These comments may not be in order…
“Courage today means turning off the noise.” This is actually one of the few places where you state it explicitly, however many of your essays reference the danger inherent in indiscriminate and constant scrolling or trolling online. The screen can be very loud in attracting the attention which makes the silence a powerful choice.
“…true courage is not defiance for the sake of defiance, but a refusal to be reduced.” I remember going to a cousin’s wedding after coming out to my parents. My mother took me aside and quietly suggested I not talk too much about my “personal issues.” Maybe I shouldn’t have been shocked, but I was. I didn’t tell her that. Instead I said I hadn’t planned to broadcast or proselytize, however I had no intention of lying to anyone. She glared at me and walked away.
“…what is bravery if not the willingness to be misunderstood?” I know a lot of writers who are afraid to write in a way that will bring attacks on them. Other people don’t want to speak up in meetings and make themselves a target. I understand those feelings and I’ve heard people spout things that are not an accurate representation of what someone said or wrote. There was a time that might have been irritating; now it can be dangerous. It’s just that the silence can be dangerous, too. That is a double-edged sword - to speak or not to speak - and living in the deep South in the US, it can turn into a life-threatening situation way too easily in a state where most folks can (and many do) carry guns. And there’s no one right answer to this, because you have to learn quickly to read the room or the person, if it’s one-on-one.
When I finished my MDiv at Naropa I was interested in doing a PhD. Princeton had a doctoral program at the time called Religion, Ethics, and Politics, led by Cornel West. I was interested enough in the program to pay for myself to fly from Colorado to New Jersey for a half-day meeting on the program with other prospective students. At one point, the professor leading the day asked me if I’d be willing to meet with one of his other colleagues, who had a similar focus to the thesis I was writing. I agreed, figuring that meant they were interested in me, and I was right. Ironically, the professor who met with me had written two of the articles I was using in my thesis.
We sat and talked Vasubandhu’s Thirty Verses (the subject) for more than half an hour and I was thrilled that I was able to go toe-to-toe with him in the discussion. Then he asked the big question. He asked if I intended to use the practice of meditation in my academic work. I said yes, and that one of my interests in their program was the possibility of working with people who would challenge me in that area. He then said if I was studying Vasubandhu both academically and through meditation, did that mean I thought my way would give me a better understanding than his, which was only academic.
I knew if I told him the truth that there was a good chance I would not be accepted. But that was the heart of what I wanted to do, was look at texts through both the academic lens and the practitioner’s lens. So I told him the truth. I said that I didn’t think it would give me a better understanding of Vasubandhu, however it would give me a slightly different one. Since Vasubandhu was a meditator, I said I thought it would be helpful to experience meditation with his concepts and see where they led. I mentioned then that I would be using his (the professor’s) two articles in my thesis, because I thought they had something important to offer to what I was trying to say. He nodded, and after a while, he had to leave for a meeting.
I didn’t get in, and yes, my answer was why. I could see it on his face and in his body language. It was disappointing, but I’d do the same again because who wants to spend years pretending not to be who you are? They wanted a pure academic and that was never going to be me.
What’s especially interesting is that when I read your answer to my questions on yesterday’s essay, I understood. It also made it clear to me that I hadn’t been able to make those connections myself, and I had bit of trouble with the “not good enough” voice in my head as a result. This essay reminded me that I’m not someone who is well-read or well-versed in everything, and that’s fine. The difference was, the guys at Princeton weren’t interested in my questions or somewhat unusual approach to doctoral studies. You were very interested in my questions. Good enough or not good enough wasn’t the issue. It was me being willing to come to the table with my perspective and you being willing to engage with me where I am.
The final reference is your last line: “Courage is waking up each morning, looking in the mirror, and choosing - again and again - to be the person staring back at you, unfiltered, unpolished, and undeniably real.” In my mind, I could see the tiger lily I told you about in one of my earliest comments, silently asking me, “Do you dare love yourself?” Love is the silent support of courage in that line of yours. And a picture of that tiger lily is now the wallpaper on my phone to remind me.
This might be one of the most layered, generous, and discreetly courageous comments I’ve ever received, because of the truths you shared, but also because of the way you wove them together without once trying to impress. You didn’t come here with armour; you came with story. Like you always do. And that, in my book, is courage.
There’s so much here I want to respond to, the wedding moment that cracked something inside you, the raw honesty in that Princeton interview, the silence that becomes dangerous, the tiger lily that dares you to love yourself. But what stays with me the most is your willingness to be seen without reshaping yourself to suit the room — even when it cost you something. That’s dignity.
And you’re right, sometimes it isn’t about being “good enough” in someone else’s narrow frame. It’s about asking the question anyway, showing up with your real lens, not the one you were told to wear. If Princeton couldn’t make room for a mind that lives in both contemplation and analysis, that’s not your failure at all, that’s their lack of imagination.
Also, I have to tell you, the image of the tiger lily asking, “Do you dare love yourself?” feels like something that should be whispered just before we open our mouths in the rooms where we’ve been taught to stay small. That is the voice I want to listen to. That is the kind of courage I want to recognise, the kind that doesn’t need to be loud, just true.
Thank you for trusting me with all of this, Doc! I promise to keep meeting you there.
I woke at 3 in the morning for a short time - inevitable when you hydrate before bed! I was too groggy to do more than read your response at the time, though not too groggy to appreciate it.
I smiled at “That’s dignity.” My mother would have said, “That’s stubborn.” And I understand - she was raised to be a people-pleaser, as most women were and many still are. She tried to raise me that way, and succeeded in some ways - I learned well to always put other peoples’ needs ahead of mine. I never did learn to lie about who I am, though I spent a fair bit of time trying to make who I was into who she wanted me to be. Zen Center and my teacher taught me how to stop doing that - finally.
Not getting into Princeton was a disappointment, and it also made it possible for me to move home after Naropa to be with my dad while my mother was dying. That was a difficult, and unforgettable time, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
Yes, I do trust you. You inspire trust with your own honesty and generosity in your essays and your responses, which is why I’m clearly not the only one who trusts you. And while I love your last line, Tamara, I already trust that you’ll keep meeting me there. Thank you saying it anyway, and for meeting me.
This is the kind of reply that stays with a person. You could have just said “thank you”. You chose instead to deepen the conversation, and in doing so, you offered me something rare and tender: an intimacy made of truth, timing, and trust.
Your mother calling it “stubborn” made me smile too because that word so often hides a deeper reverence. What looks like stubbornness to the world (or to a mother shaped by politeness and sacrifice) is often just the refusal to betray the self one more time. It’s persistence with a backbone. It’s saying, “I won’t contort anymore, not even for love”. That’s self-respect finally growing teeth.
And the timing of not getting into Princeton… what a paradox! A door you wanted didn’t open, and in its silence, life handed you something so much more human: time with your father, presence during your mother’s final days, a kind of meaning no title or institution could offer. I don’t believe in neat cosmic exchanges, but I do believe some detours are sacred. Yours clearly was.
And finally, your trust… that’s a gift I won’t take lightly. It’s the highest compliment I could receive. And while I don’t believe in easy promises, I do believe in this: I will always meet you with the same honesty you bring here. No performance. No polish. Just the words that feel most real.
I’m happy to be myself, just as long as nobody expects any sort of predictable consistency with that. The person I am today, may be very different from the person I am tomorrow, and virtually unrecognisable from the ‘me’ of last Thursday just after lunch. I swap a lot of atoms on a daily basis and it’s probable that today’s dose of stardust might render further changes quite at odds with the physical and metaphysical position I hold so dearly at this particular moment.
In order to be one’s own self one must first develop a firm understanding of who the hell that self is, and that’s no simple task, especially if that self is to be completely free to change like (or with) the weather.
The trick is, and I think this is what you are talking about, not so much to be oneself, but to steadfastly refuse to be anybody else.
Meteorological. Yes. At first I thought you’d written, ‘let’s all be meteorologists,’ which was amusing in itself, but that infers a capacity to forecasting - to predicting, and that is the last thing we should be doing. One should be in a constant state of surprise and wonder. The sun’s appearance over the horizon should be a miracle of staggering enlightenment every day.
A meteorologist also reports on the past, and we don’t need to know about that. Even if consciousness itself is just a collection of memories, one lives only in the moment. But those that sagely entreat us to ‘live in the moment’ overlook the simple truth that we have no say in the matter. There is only the moment.
So yes. Just let us be meteorological. Let us be the weather. Let us be the wind and the sun and the rain.
That is it! Not to anchor the self in fixed coordinates, but to refuse the drag of borrowed blueprints. You’ve captured it perfectly, identity isn’t a static monument, it’s a weather system… unruly, shifting, gloriously unpredictable. And yet, somehow, unmistakably yours.
I like your phrasing — today’s dose of stardust — because it names that beautiful absurdity, we are made of remnants, and yet we seek coherence. The real trick, as you say, isn’t to define the self once and for all, but to keep it uncolonised. To not be drafted into someone else’s version of you just because it’s neater, quieter, or easier to label.
So yes, let the self be meteorological. But let it never be outsourced.
This one burns right through some dangerous undergrowth that threatens the foundations of a flourishing community. Because communities are comprised of individuals who have been asked to conform and suppress themselves for the benefit of systems of extraction and control, we risk allowing dangerous fire-starting fuels amass around us.
We need some back-burning in the ancient indigenous sense to cull the clutter to ensure a resilient environment where equilibrium is a result of construction and deconstruction of the inhabitants in a mindful way. It feels like we have abrogated our need to grow for the ease of just conforming to the path of least resistance.
That dual invocation of Orwell and Huxley’s dystopian worlds is sublime. Both versions of London control the populace with different, extreme tactics — abundance or austerity — but both ask the community to subjugate themselves. And we seem to be living in a hybrid: all the choice in the world leading to a paucity of a fully realized population. Being a fully realized person seems, to me at least, to be the reason we crave freedom of choice — but somehow this idea of choice has shackled us rather than let us soar. Maybe that’s the point a soaring populace is hard to control.
But this essay is yet another invocation to the reader to reimagine what the world might look like, if only we can do away with the illusion of a socially-binding “consensus” and that a benign “surveillance” is good for us and a necessary part of living in the modern world.
For my own part, I feel like I stumbled into my own version of Christina’s call for “being yourself every day in a world that tells you to be someone else”. It is a slow unfurling, one with a lot of uncertainty and an experience that can be deeply uncomfortable as I move through systems that are the same but their gravity affects me differently. Indeed, the first time I was engaging with your work, Tamara, I was engaged in a monthly pilgrimage to reify my efforts at being a more coherent version of myself — something you termed “self-intimacy. And that self-intimacy strikes me as an invocation that we should sharing with more people… lest we slip deeper in to HuxWellian (seemed better than ‘Orluxlian’ :P) dystopia where we are unable to find the portal from conformer to gloriously, wild individual.
And here’s hoping you keep challenging the political correctness that addles. You keep crafting treasonous words that cut against the grain. We need these words made into a clarifying myth that can help us change this trajectory you so masterfully shared in this essay.
Ohhh your comment braided with fire and philosophy, and I’m honoured to be the flint it struck against.
I read your words as both prophecy and praxis. That image of dangerous fuel amassing in the undergrowth, people’s suppressed truths, unlived desires, inherited roles mistaken for identity, is hauntingly precise. We are smothering in emotional kindling. And yet the metaphor of indigenous back-burning? Brilliant. It’s not destruction for the sake of chaos, but an act of stewardship, of wisdom that dares to scorch what no longer serves in order to make space for new life.
Yes, we are living in a HuxWellian hybrid (and thank you for not going with Orluxlian… that sounds like a synthetic eyelash brand). A paradoxical world in which infinite choice disguises profound captivity. The freedom to select a flavour of self while being subtly forbidden from being one. And here’s the wicked irony: the more choices we are offered, the more surveillance is justified “for our safety”. As if the very act of deviating from preference algorithms were a crime against the gods of convenience.
Your mention of “self-intimacy” lands with me deeply. Because that’s what terrifies power the most, not performative revolt, but radical coherence. A person in alignment with their truth becomes unpredictable, not because they’re chaotic, but because they are independent. The state can tax your income, but it can’t blueprint your soul once you reclaim it. And that makes you, in a quiet way, dangerous.
Perhaps that’s what we’re really doing here, inviting each other into dangerous coherence. Into lives that are not curated for approval, but lived with unfiltered grace. May your slow unfurling continue, glorious and strange and feral. I’ll keep lighting matches in the dark, hoping others like you catch the spark.
And yes, may we one day mythologise this moment, not as the peak of collapse, but the hinge where the obedient spell was broken.
Dangerous coherence.... Tamara. You are going to get me in trouble with your comments! First you invoke the tax collector and then remind them that we are not chaotic but independent....then mention we are dangerous. Then you add the qualifier of "coherence" and now the cross hairs are trained on these kinds of conversations.
Oh dear, we have become master spell breakers! Disillusionists, burning away an algorithmic subservience to convince. Or maybe we are just on the precipice of creating a synthetic eyelash brand... sometimes it is hard to tell :)
"Unfiltered grace" was surely a working title for Museguided's Substack? Regardless, if you think you are only lighting matches, you have failed to see the immense conflagration that appears in the minds of your readers as you illuminate forgotten terrains of the human experience.
And to spark against your ideas? Please take back the honour you bestowed on me. I am merely trying to keep up.
But I do appreciate your reverence for the indigenous, back burning metaphor.... it is one that invigorates my mind. The ossification of society... the lack of creativity for conjuring a better world, one where we can use imagination and bravery to plot a better realm for us to live in.... surely this is the endeavour that should be taking up our time? We are boiling the pot of water humans have thrived in, and we keep adding kindling to the fire beneath us.... and wondering why are we so miserable? So anxious? So beset by extreme weather? There has to be a better way. Perhaps it starts in burning away all that takes us away from becoming more.
Being yourself is a special kind of power, in that it rearranges everything around you. A potentially scary and even sometimes challenging endeavour, but one that is sure to pay off eventually.
Being yourself is like setting off a controlled explosion — things will shift, some will scatter, and a few might even shatter. But what remains is real, aligned, and undeniably yours. The scary part isn’t the rearranging; it’s realising how much of your life was built around who you thought you had to be. The payoff? Freedom. The kind that doesn’t ask for permission.
A well written comment Tamara. I agree. Being yourself is first about stripping all that isn't authentic and then rebuilding on the foundations. How much is left? Can be quite the scary question as you've said.
I have actually stopped voicing my opinions in certain circles or around people who have no understanding of our collective right to speak up our minds. Who really are we if we do not do that? What is the point of spending time with “yes” and “I agree” “friends”? The beauty of friendships also lies in those heated conversations, when we don’t always agree or see eye to eye, but it’s when we learn the most about ourselves, each other and the world.
I completely resonate with that! It’s the real conversations, the ones that challenge us, that shape who we are. I love them! Honestly, what’s the point of sitting around with people who just nod and smile? At that point, it’s like having a conversation with a mirror. I filtered these people out a long time ago. The richness of friendships comes from those moments when we clash. You are so right, Otilia!
« And yet, what is bravery if not the willingness to be misunderstood? » I absolutely love this! There is a moment of silence in your mind when you realize that you might be completely misunderstood if you say a certain thing and yet it’s very important that you do. The world is learning slowly, but only thanks to the people that do not conform, that give honest opinions and are not afraid to speak their mind. Thank you for writing about this and most importantly for being so authentic it’s actually contagious!
For me there’s always that split second of hesitation, that mental pause where I weigh being understood against being honest. And then there’s this rebellious thrill in choosing honesty, even if it comes with raised eyebrows or awkward silences. It happens all the time to me :)
I think the world evolves precisely because of those moments, when someone chooses truth over comfort. And if authenticity is contagious, I hope we’re all catching it in droves!!! Thank you, Alexandra!
The courage to voice what makes us who we are is vital, not just for personal integrity but for the collective humanity we contribute to. Too often, the world subtly nudges us to trade authenticity for acceptance, to dilute our individuality for the sake of fitting in.
In a culture obsessed with metrics — likes, shares, followers — choosing to remain true to yourself is a radical act. It’s a reminder that we are more than what others perceive or expect of us. To voice what makes us us is not only to honor our own identity but also to inspire others to do the same. Courage is, indeed, contagious, and every act of authenticity creates a ripple effect in the world around us. Thank you for making us reflect on this!
Céline, your words always have such depth and insight, it’s truly a pleasure to read your perspective! You’ve captured the essence of what it means to be brave in today’s world. The idea of courage as contagious is particularly powerful; it’s like we each carry a spark that, when shared, can ignite others to embrace their true selves.
In a time when so much of our worth is measured by digital validation, standing firm in our authenticity feels like an act of rebellion against the current. It’s not just about staying true to ourselves; it’s about creating a space where others feel they can do the same. Your comment has given me so much to think about — thank you for adding such richness to this conversation!
All of your essays remind me of experiences, people, thoughts, even other essays, and this one does that again and again. These comments may not be in order…
“Courage today means turning off the noise.” This is actually one of the few places where you state it explicitly, however many of your essays reference the danger inherent in indiscriminate and constant scrolling or trolling online. The screen can be very loud in attracting the attention which makes the silence a powerful choice.
“…true courage is not defiance for the sake of defiance, but a refusal to be reduced.” I remember going to a cousin’s wedding after coming out to my parents. My mother took me aside and quietly suggested I not talk too much about my “personal issues.” Maybe I shouldn’t have been shocked, but I was. I didn’t tell her that. Instead I said I hadn’t planned to broadcast or proselytize, however I had no intention of lying to anyone. She glared at me and walked away.
“…what is bravery if not the willingness to be misunderstood?” I know a lot of writers who are afraid to write in a way that will bring attacks on them. Other people don’t want to speak up in meetings and make themselves a target. I understand those feelings and I’ve heard people spout things that are not an accurate representation of what someone said or wrote. There was a time that might have been irritating; now it can be dangerous. It’s just that the silence can be dangerous, too. That is a double-edged sword - to speak or not to speak - and living in the deep South in the US, it can turn into a life-threatening situation way too easily in a state where most folks can (and many do) carry guns. And there’s no one right answer to this, because you have to learn quickly to read the room or the person, if it’s one-on-one.
When I finished my MDiv at Naropa I was interested in doing a PhD. Princeton had a doctoral program at the time called Religion, Ethics, and Politics, led by Cornel West. I was interested enough in the program to pay for myself to fly from Colorado to New Jersey for a half-day meeting on the program with other prospective students. At one point, the professor leading the day asked me if I’d be willing to meet with one of his other colleagues, who had a similar focus to the thesis I was writing. I agreed, figuring that meant they were interested in me, and I was right. Ironically, the professor who met with me had written two of the articles I was using in my thesis.
We sat and talked Vasubandhu’s Thirty Verses (the subject) for more than half an hour and I was thrilled that I was able to go toe-to-toe with him in the discussion. Then he asked the big question. He asked if I intended to use the practice of meditation in my academic work. I said yes, and that one of my interests in their program was the possibility of working with people who would challenge me in that area. He then said if I was studying Vasubandhu both academically and through meditation, did that mean I thought my way would give me a better understanding than his, which was only academic.
I knew if I told him the truth that there was a good chance I would not be accepted. But that was the heart of what I wanted to do, was look at texts through both the academic lens and the practitioner’s lens. So I told him the truth. I said that I didn’t think it would give me a better understanding of Vasubandhu, however it would give me a slightly different one. Since Vasubandhu was a meditator, I said I thought it would be helpful to experience meditation with his concepts and see where they led. I mentioned then that I would be using his (the professor’s) two articles in my thesis, because I thought they had something important to offer to what I was trying to say. He nodded, and after a while, he had to leave for a meeting.
I didn’t get in, and yes, my answer was why. I could see it on his face and in his body language. It was disappointing, but I’d do the same again because who wants to spend years pretending not to be who you are? They wanted a pure academic and that was never going to be me.
What’s especially interesting is that when I read your answer to my questions on yesterday’s essay, I understood. It also made it clear to me that I hadn’t been able to make those connections myself, and I had bit of trouble with the “not good enough” voice in my head as a result. This essay reminded me that I’m not someone who is well-read or well-versed in everything, and that’s fine. The difference was, the guys at Princeton weren’t interested in my questions or somewhat unusual approach to doctoral studies. You were very interested in my questions. Good enough or not good enough wasn’t the issue. It was me being willing to come to the table with my perspective and you being willing to engage with me where I am.
The final reference is your last line: “Courage is waking up each morning, looking in the mirror, and choosing - again and again - to be the person staring back at you, unfiltered, unpolished, and undeniably real.” In my mind, I could see the tiger lily I told you about in one of my earliest comments, silently asking me, “Do you dare love yourself?” Love is the silent support of courage in that line of yours. And a picture of that tiger lily is now the wallpaper on my phone to remind me.
This might be one of the most layered, generous, and discreetly courageous comments I’ve ever received, because of the truths you shared, but also because of the way you wove them together without once trying to impress. You didn’t come here with armour; you came with story. Like you always do. And that, in my book, is courage.
There’s so much here I want to respond to, the wedding moment that cracked something inside you, the raw honesty in that Princeton interview, the silence that becomes dangerous, the tiger lily that dares you to love yourself. But what stays with me the most is your willingness to be seen without reshaping yourself to suit the room — even when it cost you something. That’s dignity.
And you’re right, sometimes it isn’t about being “good enough” in someone else’s narrow frame. It’s about asking the question anyway, showing up with your real lens, not the one you were told to wear. If Princeton couldn’t make room for a mind that lives in both contemplation and analysis, that’s not your failure at all, that’s their lack of imagination.
Also, I have to tell you, the image of the tiger lily asking, “Do you dare love yourself?” feels like something that should be whispered just before we open our mouths in the rooms where we’ve been taught to stay small. That is the voice I want to listen to. That is the kind of courage I want to recognise, the kind that doesn’t need to be loud, just true.
Thank you for trusting me with all of this, Doc! I promise to keep meeting you there.
I woke at 3 in the morning for a short time - inevitable when you hydrate before bed! I was too groggy to do more than read your response at the time, though not too groggy to appreciate it.
I smiled at “That’s dignity.” My mother would have said, “That’s stubborn.” And I understand - she was raised to be a people-pleaser, as most women were and many still are. She tried to raise me that way, and succeeded in some ways - I learned well to always put other peoples’ needs ahead of mine. I never did learn to lie about who I am, though I spent a fair bit of time trying to make who I was into who she wanted me to be. Zen Center and my teacher taught me how to stop doing that - finally.
Not getting into Princeton was a disappointment, and it also made it possible for me to move home after Naropa to be with my dad while my mother was dying. That was a difficult, and unforgettable time, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
Yes, I do trust you. You inspire trust with your own honesty and generosity in your essays and your responses, which is why I’m clearly not the only one who trusts you. And while I love your last line, Tamara, I already trust that you’ll keep meeting me there. Thank you saying it anyway, and for meeting me.
This is the kind of reply that stays with a person. You could have just said “thank you”. You chose instead to deepen the conversation, and in doing so, you offered me something rare and tender: an intimacy made of truth, timing, and trust.
Your mother calling it “stubborn” made me smile too because that word so often hides a deeper reverence. What looks like stubbornness to the world (or to a mother shaped by politeness and sacrifice) is often just the refusal to betray the self one more time. It’s persistence with a backbone. It’s saying, “I won’t contort anymore, not even for love”. That’s self-respect finally growing teeth.
And the timing of not getting into Princeton… what a paradox! A door you wanted didn’t open, and in its silence, life handed you something so much more human: time with your father, presence during your mother’s final days, a kind of meaning no title or institution could offer. I don’t believe in neat cosmic exchanges, but I do believe some detours are sacred. Yours clearly was.
And finally, your trust… that’s a gift I won’t take lightly. It’s the highest compliment I could receive. And while I don’t believe in easy promises, I do believe in this: I will always meet you with the same honesty you bring here. No performance. No polish. Just the words that feel most real.
I know you will. And I’ll meet you, too.
I’m happy to be myself, just as long as nobody expects any sort of predictable consistency with that. The person I am today, may be very different from the person I am tomorrow, and virtually unrecognisable from the ‘me’ of last Thursday just after lunch. I swap a lot of atoms on a daily basis and it’s probable that today’s dose of stardust might render further changes quite at odds with the physical and metaphysical position I hold so dearly at this particular moment.
In order to be one’s own self one must first develop a firm understanding of who the hell that self is, and that’s no simple task, especially if that self is to be completely free to change like (or with) the weather.
The trick is, and I think this is what you are talking about, not so much to be oneself, but to steadfastly refuse to be anybody else.
Meteorological. Yes. At first I thought you’d written, ‘let’s all be meteorologists,’ which was amusing in itself, but that infers a capacity to forecasting - to predicting, and that is the last thing we should be doing. One should be in a constant state of surprise and wonder. The sun’s appearance over the horizon should be a miracle of staggering enlightenment every day.
A meteorologist also reports on the past, and we don’t need to know about that. Even if consciousness itself is just a collection of memories, one lives only in the moment. But those that sagely entreat us to ‘live in the moment’ overlook the simple truth that we have no say in the matter. There is only the moment.
So yes. Just let us be meteorological. Let us be the weather. Let us be the wind and the sun and the rain.
Precisely!
That is it! Not to anchor the self in fixed coordinates, but to refuse the drag of borrowed blueprints. You’ve captured it perfectly, identity isn’t a static monument, it’s a weather system… unruly, shifting, gloriously unpredictable. And yet, somehow, unmistakably yours.
I like your phrasing — today’s dose of stardust — because it names that beautiful absurdity, we are made of remnants, and yet we seek coherence. The real trick, as you say, isn’t to define the self once and for all, but to keep it uncolonised. To not be drafted into someone else’s version of you just because it’s neater, quieter, or easier to label.
So yes, let the self be meteorological. But let it never be outsourced.
Thank you, Brutus!
This one burns right through some dangerous undergrowth that threatens the foundations of a flourishing community. Because communities are comprised of individuals who have been asked to conform and suppress themselves for the benefit of systems of extraction and control, we risk allowing dangerous fire-starting fuels amass around us.
We need some back-burning in the ancient indigenous sense to cull the clutter to ensure a resilient environment where equilibrium is a result of construction and deconstruction of the inhabitants in a mindful way. It feels like we have abrogated our need to grow for the ease of just conforming to the path of least resistance.
That dual invocation of Orwell and Huxley’s dystopian worlds is sublime. Both versions of London control the populace with different, extreme tactics — abundance or austerity — but both ask the community to subjugate themselves. And we seem to be living in a hybrid: all the choice in the world leading to a paucity of a fully realized population. Being a fully realized person seems, to me at least, to be the reason we crave freedom of choice — but somehow this idea of choice has shackled us rather than let us soar. Maybe that’s the point a soaring populace is hard to control.
But this essay is yet another invocation to the reader to reimagine what the world might look like, if only we can do away with the illusion of a socially-binding “consensus” and that a benign “surveillance” is good for us and a necessary part of living in the modern world.
For my own part, I feel like I stumbled into my own version of Christina’s call for “being yourself every day in a world that tells you to be someone else”. It is a slow unfurling, one with a lot of uncertainty and an experience that can be deeply uncomfortable as I move through systems that are the same but their gravity affects me differently. Indeed, the first time I was engaging with your work, Tamara, I was engaged in a monthly pilgrimage to reify my efforts at being a more coherent version of myself — something you termed “self-intimacy. And that self-intimacy strikes me as an invocation that we should sharing with more people… lest we slip deeper in to HuxWellian (seemed better than ‘Orluxlian’ :P) dystopia where we are unable to find the portal from conformer to gloriously, wild individual.
And here’s hoping you keep challenging the political correctness that addles. You keep crafting treasonous words that cut against the grain. We need these words made into a clarifying myth that can help us change this trajectory you so masterfully shared in this essay.
Ohhh your comment braided with fire and philosophy, and I’m honoured to be the flint it struck against.
I read your words as both prophecy and praxis. That image of dangerous fuel amassing in the undergrowth, people’s suppressed truths, unlived desires, inherited roles mistaken for identity, is hauntingly precise. We are smothering in emotional kindling. And yet the metaphor of indigenous back-burning? Brilliant. It’s not destruction for the sake of chaos, but an act of stewardship, of wisdom that dares to scorch what no longer serves in order to make space for new life.
Yes, we are living in a HuxWellian hybrid (and thank you for not going with Orluxlian… that sounds like a synthetic eyelash brand). A paradoxical world in which infinite choice disguises profound captivity. The freedom to select a flavour of self while being subtly forbidden from being one. And here’s the wicked irony: the more choices we are offered, the more surveillance is justified “for our safety”. As if the very act of deviating from preference algorithms were a crime against the gods of convenience.
Your mention of “self-intimacy” lands with me deeply. Because that’s what terrifies power the most, not performative revolt, but radical coherence. A person in alignment with their truth becomes unpredictable, not because they’re chaotic, but because they are independent. The state can tax your income, but it can’t blueprint your soul once you reclaim it. And that makes you, in a quiet way, dangerous.
Perhaps that’s what we’re really doing here, inviting each other into dangerous coherence. Into lives that are not curated for approval, but lived with unfiltered grace. May your slow unfurling continue, glorious and strange and feral. I’ll keep lighting matches in the dark, hoping others like you catch the spark.
And yes, may we one day mythologise this moment, not as the peak of collapse, but the hinge where the obedient spell was broken.
Thank you, Adam!
Dangerous coherence.... Tamara. You are going to get me in trouble with your comments! First you invoke the tax collector and then remind them that we are not chaotic but independent....then mention we are dangerous. Then you add the qualifier of "coherence" and now the cross hairs are trained on these kinds of conversations.
Oh dear, we have become master spell breakers! Disillusionists, burning away an algorithmic subservience to convince. Or maybe we are just on the precipice of creating a synthetic eyelash brand... sometimes it is hard to tell :)
"Unfiltered grace" was surely a working title for Museguided's Substack? Regardless, if you think you are only lighting matches, you have failed to see the immense conflagration that appears in the minds of your readers as you illuminate forgotten terrains of the human experience.
And to spark against your ideas? Please take back the honour you bestowed on me. I am merely trying to keep up.
But I do appreciate your reverence for the indigenous, back burning metaphor.... it is one that invigorates my mind. The ossification of society... the lack of creativity for conjuring a better world, one where we can use imagination and bravery to plot a better realm for us to live in.... surely this is the endeavour that should be taking up our time? We are boiling the pot of water humans have thrived in, and we keep adding kindling to the fire beneath us.... and wondering why are we so miserable? So anxious? So beset by extreme weather? There has to be a better way. Perhaps it starts in burning away all that takes us away from becoming more.
You got me :)
Being yourself is a special kind of power, in that it rearranges everything around you. A potentially scary and even sometimes challenging endeavour, but one that is sure to pay off eventually.
Being yourself is like setting off a controlled explosion — things will shift, some will scatter, and a few might even shatter. But what remains is real, aligned, and undeniably yours. The scary part isn’t the rearranging; it’s realising how much of your life was built around who you thought you had to be. The payoff? Freedom. The kind that doesn’t ask for permission.
A well written comment Tamara. I agree. Being yourself is first about stripping all that isn't authentic and then rebuilding on the foundations. How much is left? Can be quite the scary question as you've said.
This post really spoke to m. Bravo!
“We’ve been sold a myth of individualism while being herded into systems designed for conformity.” <—- truly
Thank you so much!
I have actually stopped voicing my opinions in certain circles or around people who have no understanding of our collective right to speak up our minds. Who really are we if we do not do that? What is the point of spending time with “yes” and “I agree” “friends”? The beauty of friendships also lies in those heated conversations, when we don’t always agree or see eye to eye, but it’s when we learn the most about ourselves, each other and the world.
I completely resonate with that! It’s the real conversations, the ones that challenge us, that shape who we are. I love them! Honestly, what’s the point of sitting around with people who just nod and smile? At that point, it’s like having a conversation with a mirror. I filtered these people out a long time ago. The richness of friendships comes from those moments when we clash. You are so right, Otilia!