Send in the Clowns

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Photo by Darren Nunis on Unsplash

The first time I tried to run away, I actually tried to join the circus. I was seven and had never been to a circus before. A voice clearly said, this is your real family. You were born to be a clown. So I slipped away. My frantic mother finally found me sitting on the steps of a trailer earnestly trying to explain to one of the clowns that this was my destiny.

To stand in front of people and intentionally make a fool of oneself, to look ridiculous and vulnerable, to allow oneself to publicly fail requires a foolish courage that invites the audience to react in disgust or delight upon recognizing their own ridiculous life choices.

My first paid gig after leaving my job in advertising was wearing a fox costume as mascot for a bank. I was thrilled to be jumping up and down like a manic court jester, dancing down the sidewalk, playing with children instead of being the only female at a liquid lunch of salacious, mendacious account executives who constantly had the need to wink at me and pat my thigh as we talked campaigns. However, why a bank chose a fox as a mascot still eludes me.

In times of political turmoil, society needs clowns. The “tactical frivolity” in Portland inspired millions. It may not have changed things much, but at least no one got hurt. And who doesn’t love a blow up frog?

What does it take to be a real clown? To be willing to reflect society by skilfully playing the fool? When people talk about a “clown in the White House” I want to shout, “No! A true clown makes us laugh at ourselves, not get us angry.” Now if there was a little more slapstick in the Oval Office, if our laughter was genuine delight instead of a kind bitter Heh-heh, I’d be all for it. But of course, that takes training and skill. Allowing yourself to look silly is hard work, whether you’re wearing a red nose, a fox costume, or just admitting that you left the can of paint on the ladder while you tried to move it.

I once took a course in Comedy writing and the teacher explained that really good comedy is watching the protagonist struggle through nightmare after nightmare. Many years ago, a comedian named Steve Allen said that “Comedy is tragedy with time.” How many hilarious stories have we all shared of embarrassing or challenging events? (I still remember being trapped on the island in Kejimkujik National Park during a nightmare torrential downpour that flooded our tent as we battled legions of mosquitoes. Retelling it always gets funnier.) Movies like The Death of Stalin (who would have ever imagined that as a subject for slapstick?) or Good Morning, Vietnam, remind us that even in the darkest times, we need to laugh, whether it’s at my neighbor prancing at a protest march in a banana costume, a Darwin Awards compilation or a Saturday Night Live sketch. Each is a reminder that at our core, we are all seriously foolish.

So embrace your inner clown. Be vulnerable. Be honest. My Mother never really understood my clowning. But she was the one who told me as a child, “Laugh and the world laughs with you. Cry and you cry alone.” Thanks, Mom!

There are many Feldenkrais Awareness Through Movement® lessons that invite failure and giggles. If you haven’t done this one for a while - release your inner clown and go for it!