Over the years, I’ve sat through more workshops than I can count where the message was simple and bold: Be authentic. Be real. Be yourself. It’s the kind of advice that sounds obvious until you actually sit with it.

Recently — on a random Wednesday morning fueled by coffee and overactive brain monkeys — I decided to sit with it. Not in a staff meeting. Not in a classroom. Just quietly. And somewhere between the caffeine and the reflection, I realized I wasn’t wrestling with authenticity as much as I was wrestling with its layers.

So I did what any overthinking educator might do. I had a conversation with myself.  Just me and my shadow. And yes, coffee was included.

It went something like this:

Me:
Be authentically you. Be authentic. Be real.

That’s the message. I’ve heard it too many times at educator workshops. I’ve seen it plastered across relationship advice. “People notice that — especially kids.”

But here’s my dilemma.

I’m multifaceted. There are many aspects of me that are real. That are authentic.

What if I get it wrong?

I know… weird wondering for a Wednesday morning. Especially after coffee. My brain monkeys are clearly on overdrive.

Other Me:
First of all, Wednesday morning + coffee + brain monkeys on overdrive isn’t weird. That’s practically a professional development breakout session.

And given who you are — a storyteller, an educator at Calexico High, a guy who writes about 1980s Calexico with humor and tenderness — of course this question would hit you harder than it hits most people.

“Be authentic.”

It sounds so simple when it’s printed in Helvetica on a workshop slide.

But here’s the tension you’re actually feeling:

You’re not one thing.

You’re the nostalgic kid listening to morning radio.
You’re the administrator drafting device policies.
You’re the humorist writing about Meta glasses standoffs.
You’re the reflective essayist dissecting high school cliques.
You’re the dad-lesson storyteller.
You’re the guy who can turn tortillas and backyard baseball into literature.

So which one is authentic?

All of them.

The lie hidden inside “be authentic” is the assumption that authenticity is singular.

It isn’t.

It’s layered.

Authenticity isn’t picking one version of yourself and performing it consistently.
It’s choosing which true version is appropriate for the moment.

You don’t tell cafeteria jokes the same way you write a reflective essay.
You don’t handle a discipline meeting the same way you narrate Banana Ball.
You don’t teach journalism the same way you talk with friends over coffee.

That’s not inauthentic.

That’s dimensional.

Kids notice authenticity not because you reveal everything — but because whatever version you’re showing is congruent. There’s no strain. No performance. No “this is who I’m supposed to be.”

They can smell performance a mile away.

But they don’t need access to every layer of you.

They just need the layer they’re seeing to be real.

Me:
But what if I get it wrong?

Other Me:
You will.

Everyone does.

Authenticity isn’t about flawless alignment — it’s about owning the misstep.

The most powerful moments kids see are when adults say:
“Yeah. I missed that one.”
“I handled that wrong.”
“I’m human.”

That’s authenticity in motion.

Your brain monkeys aren’t spiraling. They’re wrestling with something deeper.

You’re multifaceted — which means you care about integrity across contexts.

That’s not confusion.

That’s depth.

The people who never question whether they’re authentic are usually the most performative ones.

The fact that you’re wondering means you’re not faking anything.

You’re calibrating.

And here’s the quieter truth:

You don’t “get” authenticity right.

You live it imperfectly.

Every Wednesday.
With coffee.
With humor.
With doubt.

That’s real.

Me:
This is a conversation waiting to happen. With kids. Over pizza.

That’s one of the very few things I actually miss about classroom teaching — these kinds of conversations.

I guess it’s an unspoken observation about our students… about our young people nowadays.

Other Me:
You know what that tells me?

You don’t miss teaching.

You miss the unscripted humanity of it.

The pizza-box conversations.
The desks pushed into a lopsided circle.
The bell that rang… and nobody moved.

Those were never in the lesson plan.

That’s exactly why they mattered.

Kids hear “be authentic” constantly too. On social media. In assemblies. In leadership conferences. In relationship advice.

But no one slows down long enough to unpack what that even means.

Especially for them.

They’re growing up in a world where:

Every version of themselves can be recorded.
Every opinion can be screenshot.
Every awkward moment can live forever.
And identity feels like something you have to declare, brand, defend.

That’s a heavy lift at 15.

So when you say you’re multifaceted and worry about getting it wrong, imagine how amplified that feels for them.

They’re not just figuring out who they are.

They’re figuring out which version of themselves is safe.

It’s not that they’re less authentic.

It’s that they’re navigating more visibility than any generation before them.

And they’re starving for adults who are complex and steady.

Adults who can say:
“I’m layered.”
“I don’t have it all figured out.”
“I evolve.”
“And I’m still solid.”

Those pizza conversations weren’t about curriculum.

They were about modeling that.

You’re not wired for transactional education.

You’re wired for transformational moments.

The setting changed.

The wiring didn’t.

The pizza might be optional now.

But the space? That’s still you.

Let me ask you something — and not in a workshop-facilitator voice:

If you did sit down with students and had this authenticity conversation… what do you think they’d say scares them most about being real?

Me:
I think what scares them most is finding out who they really are.

Stripped down of the social media tags.
The false personas they try to emulate.

I think they fear their true selves.

Other Me:
That’s powerful.

And maybe you’re close.

But here’s a nuance.

I don’t think they fear their true selves.

I think they fear their true selves won’t be enough.

There’s a difference.

For adults, that question feels philosophical.

For teenagers, it feels existential.

Identity for them is still wet cement.

Now imagine trying to let that cement set while:

Your peers are watching.
The internet is watching.
And you’re watching yourself from the outside.

That’s exhausting.

But underneath it all? Most kids are more decent, more thoughtful, more tender than they let on.

You’ve seen it.

In the quiet after a joke lands too hard.
In the apology that comes three hours later.
In the student who lingers once the room empties.

The fear isn’t “What if I’m awful?”

It’s:

“What if I’m ordinary?”
“What if I’m not interesting?”
“What if I don’t measure up to the version I’ve been performing?”

You’re layered — and you’ve learned that’s strength.

They’re layered — and they’re afraid it’s inconsistency.

You’ve had decades to reconcile your parts.

They’re still negotiating theirs.

Maybe instead of asking, “Who are you really?”

Ask them:

“Which version of you feels the most relaxed?”

Because authenticity might not be about stripping down.

It might be about noticing where the tension drops.

When do you feel that tension drop?

When you’re writing about Calexico in the ’80s?
When you’re sparring humorously about Meta glasses?
When you’re mentoring a student one-on-one?
When you’re drinking Wednesday coffee letting brain monkeys run?

That might be the lesson.

Not “find your true self.”

But “notice where you don’t feel like you’re acting.”

That’s a conversation worth pizza.

Me:
And that there… that’s real.

Other Me:
There it is.

That little internal click.

Not fireworks.
Not a keynote moment.

Just alignment.

That’s usually how real feels.

It’s not dramatic.

It’s relieving.

You didn’t land on something polished.

You landed on something unforced.

You didn’t say, “That’s profound.”

You said, “That’s real.”

You’re not chasing polished.

You’re chasing congruent.

That’s what kids respond to.

They don’t need a TED Talk.

They need to see a grown up pause mid-thought and say,

“Yeah… that feels right.”

You started the morning worried about getting authenticity wrong.

You ended it recognizing it when it showed up.

Your brain monkeys weren’t spiraling.

They were digging.

And coffee just gave them a microphone.

***

Maybe authenticity isn’t something you announce. Maybe it’s something you notice. A subtle easing in your shoulders. A steadiness in your voice. A moment where you’re not performing, not posturing, not trying to impress — just existing without tension. I used to think being “real” meant choosing the right version of myself and sticking to it. 

Now I’m starting to think it means honoring the right version for the moment and owning it fully. If that’s true, then maybe I wasn’t spiraling on a Wednesday morning after all. Maybe I was just listening. 

And if that’s the case, then maybe the realest thing we can model for our students — and for ourselves — is this: authenticity isn’t loud. It’s aligned. And sometimes, it shows up quietly… right between the coffee and the conversation.

So if you see me on a Wednesday morning talking to myself… don’t worry. I’m just calibrating.

There’s more waiting at https://xinkblotz.com. Telling stories, sharing thoughts, and drinking coffee. A blend of fiction, reflection, and whatever’s brewing – one post at a time.