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This one is for Ipek - I felt in love with your question!

Somewhere between Instagram likes and heartfelt diary entries, I found myself asking a question I didn’t know I was afraid of: Am I living my life, or am I performing it?

It’s a question that sneaks up on you—usually while you’re tweaking the third filter on a photo you were supposed to post "just for fun." But fun doesn’t have a lighting preference, and it certainly doesn’t need a caption that’s equal parts witty and relatable. So why do we keep turning life into a dress rehearsal for approval?

The Standing Ovation Syndrome

Humans are wired to crave applause. Not necessarily the literal kind—though if you’ve ever been cheered on for successfully parallel parking, you’ll know how good that feels—but the kind of validation that says, You’re doing it right. From the first “Good job!” we hear as toddlers to the glowing LinkedIn updates we post as adults, validation has become the currency of self-worth. Whether it’s a promotion, a compliment on your outfit, or a flood of “You’re so brave!” comments under a vulnerable post, we’ve been conditioned to seek approval as proof of our value.

But the problem with applause is that it’s addicting. You’ll chase it, shape yourself around it, and before you know it, you’re curating your life for the audience instead of yourself. You’re not just eating breakfast—you’re showcasing your avocado toast. You’re not just traveling—you’re crafting a highlight reel. You’re not just in love—you’re creating a love story for the grid. But when the curtain falls, and the applause dies down, you’re left asking a devastating question: Was I even happy?

Authenticity: The Quiet Revolution

Now let’s talk about authenticity, the holy grail of modern living. It’s what everyone claims to want but few are brave enough to fully embody. Why? Because authenticity isn’t always shiny, and it doesn’t come with guaranteed likes. Being authentic means admitting that sometimes your avocado toast is burnt, your vacation was stressful, and your love story isn’t all romantic sunsets—it’s also awkward silences and petty arguments about whose turn it is to do the dishes.

Authenticity is messy. It’s vulnerable. It’s choosing to show up as yourself, even when the world might not clap for you. And let’s be honest: that is terrifying. We’re scared of being boring. We’re scared of being unlikable. We’re scared that if we’re too real, too raw, too human, people might walk away. So, we sprinkle on the glitter, cue the music, and give the audience the show they came for. But who’s coming for you?

The Great Balancing Act

Here’s the thing: we don’t have to throw the baby out with the bathwater—or, in this case, our Wi-Fi router out with the performative posts. It’s not about choosing between applause and authenticity but learning how to balance the two. It’s okay to enjoy applause. It’s okay to want recognition for your hard work, your creativity, your presence in the world. But it’s also okay to let go of the need for constant validation. To do things because they matter to you, not because they’ll impress someone else. Lean into the moments that feel good simply because they’re yours—not because they’ll look good in hindsight. This doesn’t mean we stop sharing our lives with others. It means we stop living for their reactions. Applause isn’t the enemy; it’s the addiction to it that gets in the way of authenticity.

The Bigger Question

At the end of the day, the real question isn’t whether you want applause or authenticity—it’s whether you know who you are when the audience isn’t watching. Because life isn’t a Broadway show, and you’re not just the lead actor waiting for a standing ovation. You’re the writer, director, and audience all rolled into one. You get to decide what deserves applause and what doesn’t. So, the next time you catch yourself reaching for approval, pause and ask yourself: Am I doing this for the applause, or am I doing it for me? And if the answer is me, then congratulations—you just gave the best performance of all: living authentically.

Curtain call not required, but if you want to clap for yourself, I promise, that’s the kind of applause that never gets old.

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