There's only one version of me...isn't there?

Abe the clown performing. Photo Taken by Bruce Hart

When I was seven, I recall spending my Sundays at the Lismore car-boot market, following closely behind a street performing clown named ABE Bazzan. While there were many other children doing the same thing, there was a difference for me; that clown was my dad. It was quite confusing to see my dad transform from the person that I knew into an eccentric, larger than life character, who was totally and unrecognisably different. While I tried to enjoy the clown show, I couldn’t help but know that it was my dad underneath the mask, the clothes, the raspy voice, and the bizarre character. I got to experience the ‘post-show analysis’ which is another way of describing the painful process of counting coins that had been deposited in his busking tin at the end of the show. Rarely was the energy and passion with which he performed met with commensurate payment. What was more alarming, was the sadness that often sat with my dad after the shows. Somehow, performing as an alter-ego to the delight of others, sapped my dad of his energy leaving him flat and empty.

In many ways, we all put our clown costume on in readiness to perform for the audience. The difference being, our mask is our persona and the audience is often our work or our family and friends.

ABE counting counting coins after completing a show. Photograph taken by Bruce Hart

ABE having a quick drink before continuing his performance. Photograph taken by Bruce Hart

I recall a conversation with my dad when I was a teenager that revolved around some of his insights as a clown. He shared with me that one of the hardest jobs in the world was to be a clown…not due to the demands of performing but more-so due to the emotional burden carried by the role. The irony is, when people watch a clown, they see a symbol of comedy, a licence to laugh and an opportunity to release themselves from the moment. On the flip side, while dad was performing for the crowd what he could see was a deep sadness in people that was unveiled in the presence of his alter-ego. You see, the clown mask and costume that my dad wore enabled him to see people for who they really were because the clown was a joke, a symbol, a character that casts no judgement and makes us laugh. I guess what this did for my dad was get him more aware of how similar we all are when we front-up to the world. In many ways, we all put our clown costume on in readiness to perform for the audience. The difference being, our mask is our persona and the audience is often our work or our family and friends.

Why is this important?

In one of my recent articles ‘What’s your story’, I focussed on the necessity of regularly asking yourself what is most important. In my work as a coach and facilitator, I often ask people, “what is most important to you right now”. The answer is usually prefaced with “do you mean at work…. or at home”. The answer implies a distinction between how one makes decisions at work vs personally. For me, this is indicative of an underlying belief that who we are, depends on the situation we are in. Or put another way, how we choose to respond is dependent on our context. Taking this one step further, given the situation is always evolving, are we to then assume that the number of personas that we master must equal the situations that we are presented with? I don’t know about you but that sounds like a whole lot of hard work…and I’m exhausted just thinking about it. I get that we need to be respectful and accommodating but when it comes to what’s most important, it shouldn’t vary too much from one context to another.

Dad is now retired aged 77 and is suffering from a terminal illness. About 6 months ago, he mentioned that he was feeling more at peace with himself. He explained that throughout his life, he was always an entertainer. He would play music at parties, perform on stage, act in amateur theatre, was a puppeteer, clown, and musician. I often felt that he was even performing for me at home to lift my spirits or help me through a challenge I was facing. What he went on to express gave me some deep insight, not just into my dad, but human psychology. You see, dad always struggled to simply show up as himself. He was a little awkward in social settings, misunderstood in work contexts and didn’t really know how to ‘be’ as a father. When I asked him “Why are you more at peace with yourself now Dad?” he simply replied with, “I just want to be me”. As strange as it sounds, I think what dad expressed is at the core of what most of us want. The simplicity to just ‘be’ who we are without having to perform a certain way. The irony with this is that dad is now more creative and alive than he has ever been simply because he is spending his energy on what he loves doing, not on how he thinks he should be performing in the world.

What’s the lesson in this?

I think we all play the clown or performer to a certain extent. It protects us from being vulnerable and showing the world who we really are. I know I’m certainly guilty of it at times and work hard to keep myself in check. For some reading this, they might think of this as an overly philosophical view of the world. My retort, if we live life through a filter determined by the current context when do we show up as ourselves…if at all? Imagine if all the energy you spent on being a certain way at work, at home or with friends was directed toward your creative potential through ideas, learning and developing?

In closing, I wanted to share that Dad was an amazing clown and performer (one of the best I’ve ever seen). I often wonder how far his genius could have taken him if he had gained the confidence and insight to simply be himself when he was in his prime. His gift to me, and in turn to all of you is to share that there is only one version of who you are, warts and all. Recognise this for yourself, do it quickly and the rest will take care of itself.