On a snowy, winter’s day in Paris, stuffed from the three and a half croissants I inhaled for breakfast – what?! don’t judge me, they’re those small buffet breakfast croissants – I walk into the empty studio and *pfffffttt*, a small puff of hot air is released from my butt cheeks. I’m hilarious – I think to myself. I am ready for clown school.
The facilitator walks in, a very famous European clown, sits down as the rest of the motley crew of red nose novices walk through the door. “Something stinks?” he broadcasts. I squeeze my cheeks shut, and with the full bravado of someone who is riddled with guilt, “Don’t look at me. I’m the first to announce my farts.” I turn a deep shade of clown nose as I let another rip. This one honks out and is amplified between the cold plastic chair and my super skinny jeans.
The class of clowns clock me as they realise this culprit has been caught out. There’s no getting out of this sh1t. I slowly rise from my chair, as the blood rises to my face, I make a wafting motion with my hand “Calvin Klein with a hint of the croissant” I take a bow and sit back down as the pratfall breaks out into laughter. And just like that, I had my first experience in clowning.
The concept of ‘embracing the flop’ is a key element in clowning. The clown in its most vulnerable state views the f*uck up, as a victory; an opportunity for laughter. The clown will do whatever it takes to get that recognition from the audience even if it means repeated failure at her own expense.
This freedom to fail fast and fail often can be so beneficial if we can apply this
savour of failure to our everyday lives. If we can view failure as an opportunity we can eradicate the fear that holds us back from truly living fully on purpose. We are more willing to take bigger risks and therefore are likely to receive bigger rewards.
Clown school placed a spotlight on all of my insecurities, it picked apart my perfectionism, destroyed my inner control freak and revealed my croissant addiction (okay, fine, I had known about this for years already). It broke me down to build me back up. It wasn’t easy. Sometimes it wasn’t even fun. But it taught me to be nicer to myself. To not hate myself for failing but rather love myself for it. It taught me to be brave and be silly in front of others. To not second guess myself and to trust my instincts. It taught me that what makes me unique, makes me funny. So how do I fully embrace my inner weirdo because ignoring it is like a missed high-five-slap-in-the-face. Which is definitely not funny. Okay, maybe it is. But you get the point. So let’s embrace our inner silly, weirdo. Let’s give her a huge smooch on her lips and love her because this authenticity is what makes us hilarious.
Leave a Reply