There’s a video I find really inspiring, a talk given by John Cleese, one of the old British gurus of comedy, most known for his work on Monty Python and what I’m sure was at least one stint in a dress. I don’t know why British men love dresses so much, but it seems to be standard stock and part and parcel of their comedy style. I love British comedy – British everything really, aside from the rain. The sarcasm, the wit, the humor, the stuff uppedness that blends so well with my down to earth, blurt it all out style.
Today I find myself missing humor so very dearly. Life just seems so serious all the flipping time. I love yoga, but I’m so tired of how flipping serious everything seems to be sometimes. Not that it isn’t important, and real, and beautiful and helpful and uplifting work, because it is. Most of the time I’m happy to do it. But sometimes, just sometimes, I don’t want to self reflect. Sometimes, I don’t need to self-reflect. Sometimes I just need to step away from my own shit for a while, have a beer and laugh my ass off. That’s where I’m at right now. I want to step away and laugh my ass off. I want space to chuckle into the infinite void of sky, the silence of the forest, the space clear of humanity, if only for a few hours. Mountains, Gandalf. I want to see mountains again. And find some place quiet where I can finish my book.
I won’t apologize for the Lord of the Rings reference either, because let’s face it, Lord of the Rings is awesome. I wonder how to become a comedienne. I wonder if I have what it takes, or well, the desire. I know I dearly love to laugh. I dearly love to make people laugh. But it’s always been an organic thing, a spur of the moment process, it’s never been something premeditated and pre-prepared and pre-packaged, nothing like that salsa I buy from HEB. The minute someone looks at me and says “be funny” I freeze. I shrink up and disappear into the safe cavern of my head. Not that it’s very safe, but it’s quite a wandering maze of miscellaneous facts, stories and memories that I can disappear into for a while whenever I find the need. In fact, I find myself walking there quite often. I like my head, oft though it betrays my heart.
But how to be funny? I guess I could experiment a little. How to write jokes? Well, here’s a half-hearted try.
How many yogis does it take to screw in a lightbulb? One to hold the bulb, one to find an inspiring quote, and 5 to post about it on instagram.
How many beers does an average girl drink? In public? None, because beer makes you fat. In private? Vodka cranberriy bitches, because pink drinks full of sugar that taste like shit must mean it’s good for you.
Has anyone ever noticed that the health industry in the US seems to be based on how shitty you can make something taste? Seriously, the stuff I’ve put in my mouth for the sake of organics would make my grandma roll over in her grave. Seriously, though, WTF. In an age of judgment over food, where some random groups of people set them up as holier than thou food gurus sent to earth to judge the rest of us for our shortcomings, why does “healthy’ food have to taste like shit? Why is sweet the enemy? When did flavorful spices become a bad thing? Why does everything have to be cold and raw to the point where my colon screams in disapproval after eating? What about good fats?
Today’s blog post is a meandering walk through my mind maze, in which I invite you to wander the paths with me. I say today’s, but I’m pretty sure I do this all the time. Anyhoo, glad you could join me this time. Mind maze weather update is all sunny skies and warm weather, despite its being February.
I think the scariest bit about opening up to creativity once again is trying to get over the cruel harshness and criticism of my job over the last few years. As Cleese says, it’s hard if not impossible to be creative in the closed mode. Meaning that, under intense criticism, oversight, in times of harsh judgment and nasty comments, there is no comfort, space or confidence in which to grow creatively. I finally feel myself starting to shake off those mounds of critical dirt that have piled up over my creative light over the past few years.
I’m starting to blossom but the fear is still present. I listen to that song by Florence and the Machine over and over again to help me “shake it off, shake it off” and so far that helps a little. Let it go, let it drain away, let the river carry it off. Walk it off, tell it to f– off. I’m working on it. It’s melting slowly.
There’s a beautiful quote I read recently in a book about mindful movement and how to imbue your yoga practice with mindfulness. The author talks about how we can’t just crack ourselves open with yoga all at once like a walnut in a nutcracker. Most of the time, we have to just set the ice cub in the window and let it dissolve, let it melt slowly open, minute by precious minute.
So today I’m stepping back from trying to smash my heart open into awakening and peace and trying to crack and break and force myself to follow the narrow path of my own expectations. Today I’m just going to accept that my heart and life will dissolve and melt open into sweetness when the sun gets hot enough and I’m damn well ready.
So, no, I don’t think I’m a brilliant comedienne and it’s obvious from my small attempts above that I’ve got quite a bit of work to do in life, yoga and comedy. But at least I don’t have anyone standing over my head anymore telling me I can’t do it. Not even my own shadow. That’s something.