Authenticity on a Pedestal – Part I

One of my favorite images from our life in Xi’an is of this guy who was operating a jackhammer on top of a pillar at the neighbor’s house across our little street. I detested the endless sound that went on for days and days. And, oh, the dust! But the visual of that man up there remains a fascinating and treasured memory. [You can see an actual photo by visiting hnkconnect.com/about-hnk.]

A lone man perched on a narrow column of concrete and rebar, with barely space for his own two feet plus the heavy jackhammer he was operating – all a story or two high above the ground with nothing but his own balance between him and tragedy. And up there so long. Hours on end. Day after day, one column after another. Slowly working his way down, vibrating and pounding his own perch until nothing remained but a crumpled heap on the ground below.

His was life on a pedestal, like a great orator with a machine for a voice or like a leader soaring high above his people showing them the way of life. Pedestal living is what we require of those who guide us. Get up there where we can see you and can see how you do what you say. The American President exposed to all the world, the pastor or parish priest on display, the boss high above the office paeans.

Pedestals, aside from that one the guy in Xi’an was working to demolish, are generally considered glamorous. Life’s a stage and everyone dreams to be on it. A position from which you can be admired and applauded.

Or attacked. I never liked eating at a Western-style head table, especially one where you sat at on stage facing the world for all the world to see. You feel exposed, your every bite thoughtfully or thoughtlessly chewed over by everyone watching. Pedestals and platforms are dangerous places, really, justifying most perks that might accompany them. Somehow the perks and the praise are supposed to make up for the loneliness and danger that inevitably come with such lofty positioning. I’m not so sure, any more than I am sure they are entirely necessary.

Public figures have three selves: the Platform, the Door, and the Backstage selves. They are all expressions of the person’s true self.

The Platform Self is what people see of the figure up in front on stage and what they glean of that leader’s or speaker’s life through what is shared in the monolog or speech or is demonstrated publicly. The self that is shared up front is part of that person, the public self or perhaps better said, the preferred public self. The self we wish people to see in us.

When that person on the platform descends to shake hands, greet and chat one on one with his or her audience, then the Door Self appears. I call it the Door Self for a doorway is often where we meet the Platform speaker face to face. Whatever feeling of intimacy can possibly be shared by a speaker with an audience of one hundred or ten thousand, the one-on-one encounter magnifies that opportunity. And yet, without either of us trying, the engagement is acted out. Not so inauthentic as it is projected, the preferred self presented once more in deliberate, careful choreography.

It is only backstage that the true self appears. Here is where we let our hair down, where we take off the guard. Maybe the Backstage Self is not any more or less authentic than the other selves, but there is something to this unguarded, unprojected self that is genuine and truly intimate.

We’ll continue this theme next week …