In which Our Hero learns to befriend his flops.
Americans are pushies.
Not sensitive. Not gentle.
We want it, so we push it.
It’s not attractive. It’s not sensitive. It’s not connected.
—
Today, I was boring. A cause for celebration.
I entered the stage as a mangy, rabid coyote. I loved it. Head Teacher even said I was full of delight and pleasure—but that my pleasure wasn’t reaching the audience.
So she began to chant:
“Boring! Boring! Buh-buh-buh-boring!”
The class joined in. Then I joined in.
And when I joined, they loved me.
I danced; we chanted; I escalated to “…and dumb!” They loved that too. Real humility—not performance, not irony. I was boring! I was dumb! I was ugly. And we loved that together.
We love someone who makes fun of themselves.
After Head Teacher called out a fellow student for pushing too hard, the student offered to jump out the window. The audience laughed. The assistant teacher helped him open it. We laughed again. Excellent pedagogy. Also: improves student-teacher ratio.
—
After class, I decided to catch the train to Paris. I had four minutes to pack my bag. Then I thought:
Why am I rushing?
This isn’t fun.
So I slowed down. Decided to take the next train. Stopped by the café instead. And since I was going, I figured I might as well bring a cake for my classmates.
I texted the group chat and showed up with cake.
They were so grateful—
—or at least they would have been if any of them had been there.
The café was entirely bereft of clowns. Oops.
I sat outside and chuckled at myself. A homeless man approached. I waved him away out of habit… then called him back and offered cake.
He asked if I had a knife to cut it in two. I didn’t. So he broke it with his hands.
It brought me joy that he stumbled away without saying merci.
It gave me delight to share cake with someone who wanted cake.
It was joyful to see him divide it in half—
—he’s not greedy, after all.
Sometimes your flops are kinder than your successes.
If you stay open, good things arrive.
Clowns don’t need cake; hungry (and drunk?) homeless people do.
—
Another homeless man later refused my cake, saying, “If I ate cake, I would die.”
Good to know the homeless are still French.
—
As I write this, I’ve arrived in Paris to buy makeup and a gray shirt. On Friday, I’ll be a stick bug. For camouflage, I’ve chosen gray: dignified, dull, affectionately geriatric.
At dinner, the woman beside me asked what I do. When I said I study clown, she told me I have a kind and happy aura.
The couple who sat down after her asked what brought me to Paris… and then invited me for Shabbat dinner in New York.
The woman in the makeup shop gave me her number as she wants to go for a walk with me.
Clearly, I’m doing something right.
—
What’s the lesson from today’s class?
Something about having good humor, laughing at myself, not taking life—or art—too seriously?
Beats me: I’m boring and dumb.
Julian Wise 