Sunday, September 20, 2015

I Wish You Joy


Most people don't understand that very funny people are often extremely serious.

I, on the other hand, have taken notice of this misunderstanding my entire adult life. It is a subject of interest to because I myself have been branded "serious" more times than I can count, and yet people don't usually elaborate whether they are making an observation, or just accusing me of doing something wrong. (Sometimes the two go hand in hand.)

I remember walking the halls of my junior high school many many years ago, just minding my own business, and having other students yell out "Smile!" to me as they passed. I was usually taken aback, as I did not realize at the time that my face needed adjustment; I did not realize that their day was so greatly affected by my display of emotion, or lack thereof. I did get the impression that I was doing something wrong, but I was not sure what that might be. I now realize that my only crime was not living up to others' expectations, and, perhaps, bringing to the forefront of their awareness the idea of existential dilemma. But I shy away from granting them too much credit for thought.


I agree that I am a rather serious person. But I have never felt the need to "smile" to cover this up, as if there is a required way of being when out in the world. I suspect that the commenters in the halls of my junior high were, at their best, just wanting me to be "happy", and at their worst, trying to comfort themselves. But why were they even bothered by my seriousness? Let me clarify that what I mean by serious is that I think about things--a lot--and I observe just about everything that is happening around me. Now, I suspect that I do this because I am curious about things, but there is another reason; the narrative of my life required serious editing once I hit my teenage years.

This edit necessitated a great deal of thought, since I did not have much to reference from my public education or catholic upbringing that might have been helpful. I learned to label this practice "seriousness" not because it lacked humor and smiles in the hall, but because it often included solitude and brow furrowing, while lacking a certain carefree frivolity. In other words, I smile when I have something to smile about. Is this a rule? No, it is not. But I have found that frivolity, especially the carefree version, mostly works against contemplation--while being perfectly suited to social engagement. In days of yore there was not so much engagement in my seriousness, because contemplation is best done alone, but don't mistake that for a lack of humor.

Because I am funny, goddammit.

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Louie CK, sad clown
It seems that Joe and Jane Public are genuinely shocked to find out that their favorite comic is in fact a very serious person. Everyone I know seemed shocked when Robin Williams committed suicide, not understanding how someone so funny could be depressed enough to want to end his life. Well, the question I have for you at this point is: Where do you think funny comes from? True humor comes from pain, and the best comics mine their own to come up with it. Currently, Louis CK is at the top of this game, so if you like him, you know what I mean. I suspect that Robin Williams was not able to mine his pain so well in the long run, and perhaps that is why he was depressed. I also suspect that this is why his humor was not funny to me, since it relied on shtick more often than pain. I saw him as a clown, not a comic. But even clowns take off the mask eventually.

Back when I was acting, I was a comic actor who occasionally did drama. When I was required to be funny, I would literally do anything for a laugh, unselfconsciously. My aim was to use my insecurities for the audience's benefit, and ultimately, for mine. To me, it was about triumph--by using my pain to make people laugh, my pain no longer hurt me so much. It was still there, it just had little to no power over my choices. If you confront your worst fear in front of others and survive, you may find it can no longer terrify you. I like to think that I was absolutely hysterical in my comedy roles (sometimes I was, sometimes I wasn't), because I had a lot of pain to mine, and the control I had onstage over my audience was preferable to the control that my pain had over me for so many years.

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I am not acting anymore. Instead, I have gone into the rather serious profession of psychology, which suits me to a tee. But lately I have noticed that I am missing the art of humor a bit. Mind you, this is not an indication that I no longer have pain to mine.

I recently attended my final meeting with a men's process group that I had been participating in for nearly a year, and some of the members were sharing feedback with me. One of the guys said to me that he would miss my contributions to the group--that I always got him thinking. But he also said that there was one "side" of me that he regretted never seeing--he never saw me "laugh out loud". I blinked with surprise, realizing that he was right, at least about how I presented in the group; suddenly I concluded that my seriousness was taking over the entire house. I have been so intent in the last couple of years on building a private practice and so careful about not spending money that I have choked off a lot of "fun", so to speak. I have stifled my magic, semi-retired my sexuality, locked up my laugh, tampered my colorful creativity.

This was done in the name of my career, which is very important to me, and I do enjoy what I do. But I realize that, beyond the need to support myself, this career has taken on a disproportionate amount of importance primarily because it is the one thing that is all mine, or so I think. I feel on one hand that it is all I have, and on the other hand I feel that I don't even need anything else. Have you ever had the sense in your life that you have complete control over something? Though it can never truly happen, we can still get the feeling from time to time. And for a person like me, where for many years I wanted nothing more than to be left alone so I could take care of myself, this feeling is comforting and powerful. I think I was willing to sacrifice everything else for this level of control. In the process group, I suspect that they were more aware of the cost to my life than I was, and I also suspect that this is what they were trying to tell me during my final meeting. (This, by the way, is the value of group therapy--becoming aware of how you present in life.)

Control is alluring for many reasons, but I don't think it was always alluring in the way it is now. I see control today as a constructed response to a cultural effect: the lie that there is an order to things that benefits us. Since order, or not, is a result of cause and effect (not divine intention as many believe), there is often a little tiny part of us that spends some of the day in a bat-shit crazy panic. You might know this as anxiety. The antidote to that panic is feeling a sense of control or knowing. But when you replace an illusion with an illusion, it just delays the inevitable breakdown and reassessment. What usually works for me is to stare randomness of order in the face and form a response where I make out as well as I can, given what I know. Sometimes I err on the side of caution in this process, becoming very serious in the act. I would do well to remember that laughter never hurts when one is confronting a lack of complete control.

Before the therapy group ended for the evening, this same man said one more thing to me, which I appreciated the most. He said, "I wish you joy." He did not say that he wished me "happiness", because then I would have asked him to define his terms. He said "joy", which is an emotion, and not a fictional state of being. In this moment, I felt that he truly "got" me. Has anyone ever wished this to you and really meant it?

The dictionary definitions for joy are inaccurate and vague, linking it to feelings of happiness or success, without ever really describing what it is. That is like describing green by linking it to a marker pen. So let me give it a try.

As I said, joy is an emotion. So what does that look like? JOY is living fully. JOY is celebrating what or who is in front of you, whether you know what it is/who they are or not. JOY is being surprised by someone's love. JOY is seeing the effect of your caring towards others. JOY is holding the hot jerky movement of a baby. JOY is the pleasant activation of various senses individually or all at once. JOY is feeling appreciated. JOY is giving and sharing, knowing that you won't run out. Joy is creating art. JOY is eating summer strawberries from your garden. JOY is listening to music as a primary activity, not as background noise. JOY is grass on you bare feet, swimming naked in the ocean, riding you bike in a cool summer rain, doing yoga in the sunshine.

You might call these things happiness, but I don't. I see happiness as a marketing term, made up in order to sell things; it refers to a "mood state" or a "personality" (he is a happy person) that has little to no relation to an experience in the moment. Rabbi Irwin Kula, the writer of one of my favorite books, Yearnings, says that "Being happy isn't only about feeling good, but also about doing good." I like to think that he uses the term "happy" as I use the term "joy", because I like the definition. The form of joy he describes is one of many things we can feel throughout the day, and its contextual and transitional nature is why it feels so welcome when it happens. It is not an expectation, in the way I see culturally defined happiness, so it often surprises us in the best way. And it is relational, whereas happiness it often associated with personal happiness--something you feel about yourself, by yourself. Joy can be felt in solitude, but even then it is still the result of a relationship with nature, silence, or gratitude. And doing good, going back to Kula's definition, is a relational activity. "Happiness is," he writes, "therefore not just a feeling or emotion but a profound connection to the world (italics mine)." I strongly suggest reading Kula's book to learn even more about joy, love, relationship, and more. I recommend it to nearly everyone I know!



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In a recent attempt to have a profound connection to the world, I attended a men's weekend gathering in the mountains below Big Bear through the group CalComMen. My intention for going to the event was to renew, through community, my creative and playful leanings. As I have said, I can be a bit serious, and since devoting myself to taking exams and building a practice, I have certainly nudged out play, at the very least. I saw this camp experience as an opportunity to leave the world behind and fan the creative flames and let play run the house for a few days. 

It worked. I hiked without lights in the mountains. I swam nude. I wore blue eyeshadow to the "Rainbow Dance". I read nasty haiku in the Talent/No Talent show. I canoed. I participated in a heart circle. I played bongos in a drum circle. I connected strongly to other men--young, older, cisgender, trans, big, small, and otherwise. And in the course of the weekend, during my re-ignition, within a community, I came to fulfill the generous wish bestowed on me by the caring process group member. I experienced joy. Sometimes it is required that we move out of our familiar context in order to have a new experience of ourselves. Nature can often be the ideal place to move into.

Back in the flat-lands of Hollywood, the tingle of joy has not deserted me. Its glow warms me and reminds me that it is readily accessible via connection and play. The other morning it rained in Los Angeles, and you know what I did at 6am when I woke up? I walked outside and let the rain hit my skin. It was wonderful. It was joyful. And as it was wished upon me, I wish the same upon you.

Now get out there and play a little...with others.

Me--serious from a very young age.

20 comments:

  1. This was a great post. I like your definition of joy.

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    1. Thank you! I am glad to see a new face among my readers--welcome! I must visit your page.

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  2. What a powerful and enlightening post! I can strongly identify with much of what you've written - and it's so refreshing to find someone who actually understands the important difference between happiness and joy.

    I've never been one who has the desperate need to go through life laughing, and I've never masked my emotions with smiles. I have a good sense of humor (well, at least I think so....) but I usually keep it under wrap.

    I got a real kick out of the incident you recalled from Junior High. The exact same thing often happened to me in school. People would come along and say "Smile, Jon."
    And I would think "What the hell should I be smiling about?"

    Anyway, thanks for sharing your wisdom, Tony.

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    1. What is it about people who need everyone smiling all the time?? At least here in L.A. everyone is scowling, so I fit right in!

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  3. as is my wont, I want to read this a few times before commenting.
    back soon.

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    1. I shall both anticipate and welcome your eventual return.

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    2. First of all, again you write such marvelous prose. What more to add to such good stuff?
      People still confuse Persona with Self, and 'the clown" is the worst for people assume because you can be funny this means you are this way all the time; they are shocked to find out otherwise.
      Happiness for me is a byproduct like heat given off by a well operating machine. I often tell my patients to forget about happiness; do well and the quiet happiness that ensues is the result not the end product.
      Your definition and process of Joy is so lovely I dare not comment further.
      Last - bow ties are cool!

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    3. I continue to evolve my definition of joy, which is a good thing. You and I both deal with folks pursuing the elusive "happiness" for sure. In our positions, we can either support the culture of challenge it. I choose the latter.

      And yes, bow ties will always be cool.

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  4. Wow... great post. I relate on so many levels that I can't even begin to comment on all of them. It's almost chilling

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    1. Well hello there. Seems we have Doc Spo to thank for finding each other's musings. I greatly appreciate your comment, but am concerned about your being "chilled". Please cover yourself with a blanket or sweater so I don't worry. :-)

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  5. I have always known comics and actor and actresses who were funny to be very sad people inside..They just know the shoe dropped and they know why
    and yet they give such humor and laughter to others..But they are sad inside..the day Robin Willams ended his life our only called all upset as she adored him and thought he to be a comic genius, she was overwhelmed with crying and sadness..I had to speak softly and let her know it was what he wanted to do at that time in his life in a instance, not his life and what he gave to others, it is unfortunate that the people who loved him could not help him get past his deep depression as what a fellow he truly was and his movies etc live long to testify to his comic/acting brilliance..Some stars burn so brightly they burn out completely before their time, that is my opinion..I just found your blog and it is wonderful..have a great week..ciao!

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    1. Thank you for your thoughtful comment, and yes, it is sad that some people are so alone that their hopelessness remains unaddressed. Motivates me to check in on those I love beyond looking at their FB page.

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  6. I too can relate, Tony, with being labeled at a very young age as being 'too serious'. Heck, I had frown wrinkles on my forehead when I was 10!! lol
    I grew up in a very dysfunctional, but loving family, if that is possible. But, I always knew, and still do, there was an inner joy I felt about just being alive. It has gotten me to where I am today. So yes,there is a HUGE difference between happiness and joy. I have a joy for life but am not always happy.....whatever happiness is! Thanks for this Tony. Wishing you continued joy.

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    1. Jim, that "inner joy" is what, I am sure, kept me from ending it all a couple of times. I just KNEW that life could be good for me, and that there was something wrong with the culture, and not me. It was a painful journey, but one that I am grateful for in that I experience more joy than the average Joe, I suspect. Glad you related!!!

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  7. In therapy this evening, after spending the bulk of fifty minutes convincing myself of everything but the fact that my perception of the outside world largely depends on me, my therapist turned to me and asked if I ever feel joy. With a deep, rounded, confident and relaxed baritone I replied with a resounding no. I was shocked by how honest and real this acknowledgement seemed to me, and how unquestionably acceptable it has become.

    It was therefore a great irony that I stumbled upon your latest contribution upon sitting down to revel in my solitude, particularly as you hadn't written lately and so I had lost the habit of visiting your blog! Thank you for sharing your joy, and giving me the opportunity to experience a little of it.

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    1. We do tend to look for evidence that supports even painful ways of thinking, especially if we are convinced that this is the only way to think. Therapy is about exploring other possibilities, and challenging the "arguments" from our old ways of thinking. It ain't always easy! However, your therapist seemed to know just the right question to ask at just the right time, and it resulted in you assessing the "cost" of your perceptual choice. That can indeed be shocking!

      I don't write often because I take so long to craft an essay, making sure that I am saying something that someone might want to hear, not just blabbering on about my life (not that there is anything wrong with that, it just does not interest me as a writer). I am glad you stumbled back on my blog and found some value in it. That is why I write, and that is why I read--for the value it brings me and others. It is truly a form of "magic" that we can connect through our words like this, and I love every bit of it.

      I wish you Joy.

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  8. I also wish you joy! I didn't mean to imply your creative process was slow. I work similarly. I have to find the inspiration and the angle! However, please know that I will continue to await your future posts impatiently.

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    1. No worries, I did not think you were saying that. There is so much to read, I am happy to contribute to a sense of an-tici-PATION!

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  9. it is a joy to me, tony, just to know you exist. thank you.

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    1. Anne Marie, you have so many boyfriends, this is a sweet thing to say. It is truly fun to know you from afar, and have you as part of my blogger family.

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