A clown who stops trying to be funny
When hard work does not work
For most of my life, I’ve been taught to work hard to achieve what I want. While this work ethics has served me well, it can hold me back. Sometimes hard work is exactly what is not needed. Sometimes, letting go is the way. Seeing in that light, college is about unlearning just as much as it is about learning.
Clown was one of those classes where not trying too hard is the way. Last Spring I took it because it sounded fun and might be useful. Humour to life is like soda to pizza: you can have latter without the former, but it’s pretty dry. Life flows better if well-lubricated.
I did learn some techniques to act like a clown, many of which I might have forgotten. More importantly though, I learned what it meant to be a clown. Being funny is like being happy in the sense that both are something we cannot directly strive for. Instead, we have to accept that we are already so.
The clown does not try to be funny. He is fascinated, and as such, he makes everything surround the audience fascinating. Once in a while, he will discover the funny chord just like a coal miner finding a piece of gold in plowing through the coal.
While learning the techniques is important, the real practice to stay present, fascinated, and keep digging. Clowning is not a skill; it is a state of being. And I’ve learned that I cannot think my way into this state. How come? Let me tell you this story of the clown who stops trying to be funny.
Somehow I’ve got a self-image around being a thoughtful and insightful guy. That image has got me decently far in life but not much further in clowning. My clown teacher told me early on, “Khuyen, normally you enjoy being witty, but for this class I want you to drop that. Try being bold and loud with your body instead”. My usual self resisted hard — how on earth could a thoughtful guy *think* about how to be in the body?
I remember in one class, we were asked to go on stage one by one and just say something. It scares the heck out of me — what on earth would I say, let alone being funny? Sensing my hesitation she yelled “GOOOOOOOOOOOO” which jolted the usual “thoughtful guy” out of me. My body rushed on the stage, overriding the cerebral part that felt helpless, out of control, not knowing what to do. The whole of me stood still for a few seconds — the longest, most dramatic moment in the class for me.
Then magic happened. The belly started laughing hard, so hard it never felt so alive like that before. The cerebral couldn’t think of why the whole scene was that funny, but the belly knew it. Other bellies in the room knew it too. I said nothing. I just laughed, the best laugh ever.
Since then, whenever I make a witty remarks somewhere, I note to myself “Ok, hello Smartie”. Letting go of older identities is frightening, but remember we don’t completely discard them. We just realize we could be so much more. With that realization comes an immense liberation. I could not take myself too seriously, for who “my self” is changes, or more precisely, reveals over time. The Joker got it right: “Why so serious?”
Thank you for hanging out with this crooked mind! If you enjoy what I write, please press ❤ so that others can also get that burst of joy. Cheers to future laughs.
