In which Our Hero hardly knows her.
I played poker profitably today.
Once my comfort and confidence arrived in, everything clicked. First I made a $10 mistake. Then a $50 mistake. Then I found an edge and optimized the hell out of it. And I ultimately walked away $445 richer.
A poker pro friend, after reviewing one of my hands, put it perfectly:
“This hand is not GTO-approved at all haha, but sounds like you found a spot to hammer.” (“GTO” = game theory optimal)
I like to hammer. It’s fun.
Was this more fun than clowning?
Maybe.
Probably?
When I think back to the times I’ve “succeeded” at clowning — the moments of actually opening myself to the audience — I enjoyed those less than I enjoyed today.
However.
I’m not at clown school for myself. Not really. I’m there to learn (1) to be open, and (2) to play well with others. These are skills I want to develop for other people, not just for me.
And when you zoom out, which is the kinder pursuit: clowning and contributing to others, or playing poker to funnel money into your own pocket?
Clowning, clearly (at least to me). Poker is generally net-negative in pleasure: studies show that in most people the pain of losing outweighs the joy of winning.
But right now? I don’t care.
And that’s… telling.
Maybe it suggests my calling is less likely clowning than a poker-adjacent path.
—
When I chose clown school, I was emotionally compelled. Drawn. Obsessed.
I’m still very interested — especially in bouffon next term — but I’m also open to this new signal.
Maybe my sister was right when I first told her I was “choosing between a one-month clown course and the full year.”
She said: “When have you ever committed to a year of anything? But if you did, it would be clown school.”
It would be very funny if I only did part of the year.
I’m such.
A.
Clown.
Julian Wise 