To Live Loudly and Authentically
On truth-telling, spiritual survival, and the freedom to stop hiding.
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When I was just over 16, I found myself standing at a podium, speaking into a microphone, and telling the story of how I had been brought to my physical and spiritual knees by the use of drugs and alcohol.
I spoke about steps I had taken to heal myself, with the help of many others. I spoke, too, about how my newfound strength and hope was equally available to others who had hit similar sorts of life bottoms.
To speak this way in front of a group of over 150 people felt vulnerable in the extreme. I talked about getting kicked out of school. I talked about getting arrested. I talked about what it was like to be told by a lawyer that I might face juvenile detention. I talked about what it is like to wake up every morning disappointed not to be dead.
The Spiritual Logic of Sharing
I made this speech, you see, because I had been told that one of the only ways to recover from what I had been through was to share and speak honestly about my experience. I was told that the route to recovery was to freely share in the hopes that my story would help others to recover, too.
Years and years later, I learned that there are many spiritual traditions that offer a similar perspective: That as much as our human suffering can be painful, we can alchemize it into the power to help others.
In the Buddhist tradition, it is said that the Bodhisattva (kind of a mythical, saintly figure) is someone who postpones entry into Nirvana. Instead, a Bodhisattva continues to live in the realm of human suffering and transforms their painful experience into practical compassion–the ability to help others.
A student asked a Zen teacher: “Why do you suffer?”
The Zen teacher answered: “The only meaningful answer I can come up with is ‘for you.’ I suffer so I know what it is like for you to suffer. You suffer so you know what it is like for me to suffer. Then, we can help each other. Knowing how to help each other is the purpose of our suffering.”
OK. I admit it. The Zen teacher was me. LOL.
On Living Out Loud
I guess I could say, given that speech I made at age 16, that, from a very early age, I have believed in the value–to both my physical and psychic survival–of living out loud. Being a bit public. Making myself vulnerable.
In fact, I have learned over the years how even to make a living out of being authentic and living out loud–as a writer, as a coach, as a Zen teacher.
Metaphorically speaking, I stumble all the time, figure out how to get back up, and then use my experience to help others.
I don’t mean to sound over-earnest here. I am also a ham. I love to perform. I love to stand out. I love to be noticed. That is neither good nor bad. It is just a quirk of my character.
Is It Ego or Purpose?
Years ago, before I wrote books, I stopped myself from being a writer. I knew that a major reason I wanted to write was to see my name on the cover of a book. My motivation, I worried, was megalomaniacal.
But one day, during meditation, a voice said,
“What if you could take that energy of liking to be seen, and point it in the direction of helping people?”
Living Authentically: Why This Post Exists
All that I have said so far is a very long introduction to this post which is basically about the question of living authentically, living out loud and–to the extent that I permit myself– living honestly.
This post comes because I recently asked readers what they would like me to write about.
A reader named Aliya asked:
“I'd be really interested to know your take on how to discern/balance the creative impulse to write/share, with the deeper desire to live a more quiet life… unsure if I'm happily retreating or struggling?!”
Debbie asked:
“This question has been an ongoing contemplation and practice for me–how to stay “real” and vulnerable…. How do I feel authentic and boundaried and yet open and connected?”
So here I go…
Why I Choose to Live Out Loud
I am going to tell you that living out loud and authentically is fun and fulfilling for me. It has resulted in my writing four books and making a movie. It led me to run for Congress (I lost!). It led to my being the coach of many amazing impact-driven leaders. It has led me to so many things.
Also, it has been hard and it has sucked.
For example, sixteen years ago, my marriage to my then-wife and now best friend Michelle was portrayed in a Sundance-selected documentary called No Impact Man. When the movie came out, so many people had so many things to say all over the Internet about us and our partnership.
One of the things that was most commented on was how Michelle and I communicated. People seemed to love it. Sometimes people held it up as a model.
But then, of course, our marriage ended.
(Actually, I prefer to say transformed, rather than ended. Because we are, to this day, still an amazing family together with Michelle’s partner Maryanne–I call her “the upgrade”--and we raised the most incredible daughter together.)
As the marriage transformed, I had to navigate the humiliation of feeling there were so many pairs eyes on me as I got divorced. I felt like a huge public failure.
In fact, if you type my name into Google, all these years later, the “questions people ask” box continues to say, “Is Colin Beavan still married?”
⏸️ Take a Moment To Reflect Here: When has a personal change in your life felt most “visible”? How did you move through it?
Zen Center, Unfiltered
Here is another example of being publicly vulnerable:
I teach and, often, live in a Zen community, the Kwan Um School of Zen. Though I have been a digital nomad much of the last two years, I have regularly returned to Cambridge Zen Center (CZC) which is part of Kwan Um. When I am here at CZC, as I am now, I am the “resident teacher.”
It is one thing to be a writer and a speaker and the subject of a documentary where communities have a sporadic view into your life. It is entirely another thing to be in the set up where you a sort-of “spiritual elder” but also you have many people living with you all day long, aware of and witnessing the life you live.
I am naturally big-mouthed—meaning I have to make an effort to balance what needs to be said and what doesn’t. I have sharp elbows—meaning I must work to be aware of the effects of my actions on others. I overshare—meaning I naturally reveal a lot about myself and have to take care to consider the ways in which that can push people’s buttons.
I am definitely not a monkish Zen teacher. And so I have to eat humble pie as my fellow Zen center residents get treated to watching this “teacher” stumble through life. I do believe to that there is a teaching in my uncontrolled humanity: people get to learn, there really are no gurus.
On Being Seen in Your Humanity
The end of my marriage and Zen Center living aside, there have been many other instances when I have felt publicly humiliated, times when more people than I would have chosen have witnessed my failures, mistakes and foibles.
What’s one thing you’ve hidden that—when shared—actually made you feel more connected?
The Isolation of Hiding
But here is the thing: We all have failures and mistakes and foibles. All of us. Every single one of us.
Yet, we try to hide them.
This is strong language but I am going to say it anyway:
I think it is fundamentally sinful when we are dishonest and opaque about the truth of who we are to each other.
I use the word “sinful” advisedly because it has a sense of separation or distance.
We set up these personas and images for ourselves and so separate and distance ourselves from each other. We project ideas of how we wish we were and wish people would see us–ideas of being a person that are fake and unreal.
And the tragedy is that we then all compare ourselves to each other’s fakeness and then we come up short. We judge ourselves and others for not standing up to these fictionalized images.
We go on to punish ourselves and each other for not being the delusional ideas of what we think humans should be.
It is ludicrous and it turns out that:
Hiding our suffering from each other is the actual source of so much of our suffering.
⏸️ Take a Moment to Reflect: Is there a part of you you’ve hidden—even from people close to you—because it didn’t fit the image you wanted to project? What would happen if you let it be seen?
Some Vulnerable Truth
I find so much freedom in telling the truth. I am not talking here about being a public personna or a writer or the subject of a documentary. I am simply talking about letting the masks fall away and being honest about who I am in my everyday life.
I will tell you:
My heart has been broken a million times; I am sometimes scared of dying; I sometimes get blue for no reason; I worry that I am not attractive enough; I get scared that I will–worse than dying–be broke in my old age; I once in a while get secretly scared that I pulled the wool over the eyes of the people who made me a Zen teacher and a coach; I care what you think of me; and on and on and on.
⏸️ Take a Moment to Reflect: What’s one true thing about yourself you almost never say out loud? Just naming it might feel like a little freedom.
The Power of Shared Experience
Trying to hide all that is such a tremendous waste of energy. Being honest and open–wearing my heart on my sleeve as my friend said about me–releases the energy it would otherwise take to hide. Then I get to use that energy to create a life that is more aligned and more fruitful for myself and others.
Also, when I tell the truth about myself, people say “me too” and “me too” and “me too” and I find myself feeling loved and cared for and safe.
Truthfulness about what my life is like is the currency of my life’s abundant connection.
The Real Reason To Live Authentically
So here is the question for you, my reader friends Aliya and Debbie, who are you and what are you for? What is the direction of your life? What is your stand in the world? What do you want to create the world into?
Because the question for me about living out loud and authentically is not so much about the cost/benefit analysis. The bigger question is: Does it serve my life purpose?
After a lot of personal work I have discerned, decided and committed to a certain direction of my life energy. The stand that I take in life.
My stand is this:
I create connection to myself and others through a sense of awe, joy and playfulness. Doing so makes me creative and generous. I use that creativity and generosity to create awe and joy and playfulness in others who, in turn, also become creative and generous.
In this way, I help save the world which, in my book, means I help move it to a place where everyone on the planet gets to play.
What’s your life stand right now? Even if it’s not fully clear—what’s tugging at you?
What It Looks Like for Me
It turns out that being loudly and publicly vulnerable and authentic advances my stand. As humiliating as it is, being truthful about what it is like to be alive is my teaching, my reason for being, my offering.
Again, I don’t want to sound overearnest. For me, it is a formula that makes me a lot of money, gives me a lot of satisfaction, offers me connection, makes me want to keep living.
It is like that Zen teacher–me–who talked about why we suffer. I am out loud and vulnerable in the hopes that it makes you feel ok about being you. And secretly, I hope you will be out loud and vulnerable so I can feel ok about being me.
Are You Ashamed Of Joy?
There is something else to say. We are not just scared to share our suffering with each other. We are scared to share our joy. Many of us are self-conscious about saying when we are doing great.
So let me tell you another thing: I am doing great.
I have a friend of 40 years and we were talking the other day. I told her about some regrets I have and she said that most people close down their vitality in order to keep their lives stable in the ways they think they want. She told me about big compromises she had made in her life.
“You’ve never done that, Colin,” she said.”You have never settled.”
Also, I live at the beach half the year, country ski in Canada for a month, get paid to be in conversation with amazing impact-driven leaders, hang out with priests and Zen Masters, have an amazing 20-year-old daughter who wants to talk to me most days. The joy is just as endless as the sadness.
If no one judged you—not even you—what’s one way your life might change? What would you dare to do or say more of?
The Secret Authenticity Hack
Final point:
How do you move towards living authentically and out loud and vulnerably?
You can Google it and find many answers. But here is the secret tool that I have to offer that I don’t think Google will give you.
If you want to let yourself live out loud and authentically, you must not judge others. At the very least, never speak out loud your judgement of others.
See the best in them. Speak the best about them. Understand them.
I have been a therapist, a mentor, a coach. I can tell you that no one has ever done anything I couldn’t understand from within their frame of reference.
Maybe I get this ability not to judge because I have been so often and frequently humiliated in public. Or maybe because I need so much help and support in my life and realize that if I tried to do things alone I would be a total mess (and maybe dead). I see that I am nothing without your help.
Either way, not judging others provides me with the entire foundation I need to live out loud and authentically.
Because not judging others means I am also free not to judge myself.
Not judging myself, I think, is the basis for whatever freedom I have.
I hope this helps you not judge yourself and tell the truth.
By the way, I’m giving a Zen talk tonight and also next Thursday. If you want the details, please ask in the comments. You can join by Zoom.
Love,
Colin
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I'm starting to realize that not everyone deserves to hear my story. Sharing parts of yourself with someone is kind of like giving them a gift. Some people take that gift seriously—they really listen, connect, and see you for who you are. And sometimes, that kind of openness even encourages them to share in return.
But then there are people who just want to know—like it's an interview or something. You open up, and suddenly it feels like you’re under a microscope. It’s uncomfortable, like you’re exposed but not really seen. And that makes me wonder… am I struggling with this because deep down, I want to control how people see me? Even though I say I don’t care?
Maybe it's my ego stepping in, only wanting to share when it feels “safe” or when I can predict the outcome. I don’t know. Just trying to figure it out.
Hi Colin Thank you for this thoughtful post. Sometimes when I share vulnerable things about myself they are met with criticism and judgment. As a result, I'm cautious about what I say and to whom I say it. My areas of vulnerability are my fragile health (I try to pretend that I'm strong and resilient), a fear of dying, a fear of being totally alone, and my financial instability. I've found that many people, including my family, don't want to hear about these things and aren't capable of discussing them, maybe because they don't know how to deal with their own emotions. So I mostly keep these things to myself, and it's lonely. It makes me feel alone and isolated. There's also a feeling of shame that goes along with it, like I'm the only one experiencing these things, and it's all my fault. A feeling that I'm a failure.