The Cost of Being “Real”
Everyone tells us to “be yourself.” It sounds like freedom. But lately I’ve begun to wonder if this obsession with authenticity has become the most dangerous comfort of all.
The modern world worships being “real,” even when “real” means reckless, unaccountable, or lazy. We see it in the way people post everything online and call it vulnerability. We see it when leaders hide behind “that’s just who I am.” Authenticity without accountability has become the new excuse for mediocrity.
So as I drove out of Johor that morning, fifteen minutes from a personal IP event, I was thinking about this cultural trap. It felt good to be out of town, to be no one. No meetings, no expectations. Just me, the road, and the quiet. Yet I knew this feeling carried a cost. When nobody knows you, there’s no mirror to hold you accountable. And when there’s no mirror, even the most disciplined person can drift.
The Morning Café, the Spiral, and the Mentor
I stopped at a small neighbourhood café. My usual ritual: two roti bakar, one hot coffee, two half-boiled eggs.
As I cracked the eggs, I remembered my younger self, impatient, stirring the condensed milk until everything turned sugary. Now I swirl slowly, watching the thick milk curl into the black coffee, adjusting sweetness as I go. It’s a small ritual of restraint, proof that time teaches patience.
The café was alive with old uncles. Some repaired air-conditioners, some were retired, all scrolling their phones like teenagers. Across the street, the char kway teow uncle moved like a dancer in rhythm with the wok. He fried, his wife plated, an Indonesian helper served. A perfect system of unspoken coordination, decades of partnership expressed in oil and fire.
I sat outside for air, and that familiar quiet began to descend, the spiral I know too well. Depression doesn’t announce itself. It slides in softly, like humidity before rain. When I’m alone, thoughts loop and sink.
That’s when my mentor’s words from yesterday hit me again. We had been playing basketball when I told him I was travelling solo. He paused, dribbled once, then said, “Never ever travel alone. Never ever.” Twice.
He is a man of principle. Sixty years of faithfulness, always travelling with men, never alone with women, even for ministry. He guards himself not out of fear but out of reverence. He knows the cost of small cracks.
His warning wasn’t about safety; it was about stewardship. Accountability keeps you afloat when self-confidence tempts you to drown.
And I thought, if he disciplines himself so fiercely, is he denying his true self or fulfilling it?
Comfort, Accountability, and the True Self
Most people think “being yourself” means doing whatever feels natural. But what if “natural” isn’t noble?
My mentor’s life reminded me that the self you start with is raw material. The self you end with is refinement. That is the Law of Process John Maxwell talks about: leadership develops daily, not in a day.
When I was younger, I mistook comfort for authenticity. I told myself I was being “real” when I was just being irresponsible. Like those who refuse to join a gym because “natural exercise is better,” I clung to my preferences and called it principle. But growth doesn’t happen by staying natural. It happens by adding structure.
Malaysia isn’t ready for full EV adoption yet; too few chargers, too much waiting. Timing matters. But self-leadership doesn’t depend on external infrastructure. The gym is everywhere. The discipline is inside you. You can move now.
True freedom is not indulgence. It is self-control.
If indulgence defined authenticity, overeating would be self-care and overspending would be generosity. But freedom isn’t doing what you want. It’s the ability to choose what’s right even when you don’t feel like it.
In Chinese we say 修身齐家治国平天下, cultivate yourself before you manage your family, lead your nation, and bring peace to the world. The order is sacred. The opposite of leadership is not following. It is self-preservation.
At the café, a young man sat beside the retired uncles, legs up, scrolling endlessly. I looked at him and saw my old self, the version that almost settled for selling pirated DVDs because it felt easy. My mother refused to let me stay there. She pushed me out of comfort and into calling. I blamed her then. I thank her now.
She taught me that freedom without form is chaos. Form supports function. Without form, even the strongest potential collapses.
Becoming Who You Are Meant to Be
So what does it really mean to be yourself?
Maybe it means to be your best self, not your easiest one.
To be yourself is to realise the potential God designed in you. It is to align your authenticity with your assignment. It is to become the version of you that serves, not the one that spares.
When I travel alone now, I treat solitude as training. I watch my thoughts without letting them lead. I let silence speak but not swallow. I stay tied to my “wood,” faith, discipline, accountability, so that even when my nature sinks, my spirit floats.
That’s stewardship. As the Purposebility Vocab Bank puts it: All things are for my use, but none are mine to own. The body, the business, the brand, they are all borrowed tools to build legacy.
To live that way, you must:
- Find your form. Build daily rhythms that hold your freedom. Structure is not prison; it’s protection.
- Find your people. Accountability turns intention into integrity. Your inner circle defines your altitude.
- Find your purpose. Filter authenticity through impact, not impulse. True empathy is thinking about how your freedom affects others.
The world doesn’t need more real people. It needs more responsible ones.
The Paradox of Authenticity
Be yourself, but which self?
The comfortable one that drifts, or the disciplined one that leads?
The self that indulges, or the self that obeys?
Maybe the real journey of authenticity is not about expressing who you are. It is about becoming who you are meant to be.
Being yourself is easy. Becoming yourself is sacred.
Freedom isn’t found in self-expression. It’s forged in self-control.
So don’t just be yourself.
Be your becoming self, the one who refuses to drown, tied to faith, floating higher than nature allows.
Someday my children will hear this story and realise freedom was never about being who you are. It was about mastering who you could become. That’s how legacies begin.
