In which our hero echoes (echoes, echoes, echoes).
Apparently I’m good at vocal impressions.
That’s cool.
That’s fun.
I’ve been doing them for years.
The first one I ever mastered was my cousin Lawrence, who speaks like a college-professor walrus with an abiding love of donuts. A classic.
Then, at some point, people told me that doing other people’s voices was rude.
And then recently, a travel buddy pointed out that I unconsciously slip into people’s accents when I talk to them. It’s not intentional—I just mirror their sound.
It’s nice to realize I have an actual skill.
And that my joy leaks through in the process.
Fittingly, the first thing I did well in clown school was an impression: I imitated the sound of someone singing in Japanese. The room laughed. The teacher approved. It worked.
America is too uptight about accents.
Doing impressions isn’t inherently offensive.
Relax.
—
Completely unrelated: I feel noticeably worse when I eat carbs—less emotionally present, more buzzy and numb.
I think diet will have an impact on my clowning.
Says a friend: “Maybe the challenge is to feel present and emotionally in tune regardless of what you’ve eaten or how you’ve slept or whatever”
And that’s fair.
But also, isn’t one generally better at life when one is living aligned with what one wants?
Julian Wise 