Why So Serious? Part 1

Photo by Cliff Johnson on Unsplash

“Let’s go around the circle and tell each person something we like about them.”

We were halfway through the ‘game’ my friend had suggested, and now it was my turn in the hot seat. My heart started to beat a little faster in anticipation of what people would say. When my vibrant actress-friend praised my ability with words, the way they’ve brought her comfort and wisdom, my heart swelled. Then the next person, a fun guy who everyone loves being around, turned to me. He said “I really appreciate your seriousness.”

I was bummed.

Outside I smiled, but inwardly I was annoyed. Of all my character traits, why did he have to focus on the one I like the least? Why couldn’t he talk about traits I like: sweetness, vulnerability or intellect?

I have long hated my seriousness. When I was in my early teens at Drama or Choir rehearsals, it was the people who could crack jokes, tell funny stories or do magic tricks who would attract crowds of people. Very few people were attracted to the deep thoughts and questions I had to offer. My comments about random facts I found interesting would fall on deaf ears.

I wanted to really get to know people, hear their stories and learn what their big dreams were and discover what makes their eyes shine and their hearts tick. But others were more interested in making quick-witted comments about one another and laughing at ridiculous jokes. So I learned that if I wanted attention, wanted to be part of the group, I’d have to play along.

This gave me a kind of split personality. Some days, I would fake being funny, joking and laughing along with the others. But it wasn’t MY kind of humour; it was theirs. Other days, I would look at the group with disdain. How immature they were, laughing about the ridiculous, not talking about Important Things or ideas of Real Substance. So I became both overly serious and fakely funny.

This continued until my college years, where I let the fake funny mask drop. Funny wasn’t working for me, so I devoted all my energy to being a Serious Responsible Person.

My hypothesis that nobody likes a wet blanket and people like being around those who are the life of the party seemed to be further confirmed by more interactions with friends who were charming and amusing. Those friends seemed to always have people around them, like bees around a pool of honey. That kind of humour seemed far out of my grasp. Nobody seemed to find me charming or interesting, and I reckoned that’s because I was so serious. So I’ve worked on trying to relax, to be more chill, to not always direct conversations toward deep topics and to be cool with the superficial. I’d come a long way. But I still felt like my seriousness was a curse and a crutch.

And yet, here my friend was praising me for the very character trait I’ve tried so hard to get rid of. I was ticked off. But I smiled and said thank you anyway.

It wasn’t until later that night when my friend’s words finally sunk in. He LIKES my seriousness. What?? That blew my mind. He appreciates the very thing that I have despised for years.

I had such a hard time believing this was true, that a week later I asked him if he really meant what he said. Of course he did. And then he said something that I’ve been pondering ever since. “Lyndall, you need to own it.” Own my seriousness. Don’t try to play it down or ignore it or get rid of it.

This article is part of the process, part of me owning my seriousness. As I write, I realize things. Humans have incredibly fine-tuned BS meters. We can detect the tiniest hint of inauthenticity on a subconscious level. For years I have been trying to squeeze myself into boxes that I don’t fit into, either the Funny Person box or the Super Serious Person box. But people are most attracted to those individuals who are comfortable in their own skins, who are most fully themselves.

It wasn’t my lack of funny that turned people off. It was the masks I wore. If they were attracted, it wasn’t ME they were attracted to. It was a mask. When love or attention or affection is dependent on how well I can keep a mask in place, life is a hellish prison. Every move must keep the mask in place, or else I risk losing everything I’ve worked for. I know this is a bad idea, but I didn’t realize I was doing this with my personality until my friend somehow saw through the mask and said he liked my seriousness.

So I’m ditching the Super Serious Person mask, and I’m ditching the Funny Person mask. I’m going to be me. I am serious. And I’m not going to hide it, despise it, or push it down any more. I’m gonna own it.