This post is something of a coming out for me. I'm sure many people already know or think it, but going forward I'll now be embracing it, especially as a matter of professional identity. The statement is that
I am a fool, and I intend to lead as one.
Rather than some act of self-sabotage or paradoxical performance art, I think this is a pretty healthy and useful direction for me to head in. I'll try to explain what I mean by all of this.
First, the fool. I mean this as an archaetype, a dramatic role. This is the character whose social standing has completely collapsed, all the way through the trap door in the floor. All claims to respect, authority, gravitas, and power have been vacated, and all participants know this.
Because the fool is not dependent on maintaining any standing, they are free to behave without heed for it. Beacuse the question of any contingent value has been answered, rather than attempting to perfect their persona, they are free to manifest their intrinsic worth. They are free to affiliate with the high and the low, to speak their mind whether right or wrong, to just carry on doing their thing authentically.
Compare with the clown or the jester. The clown is a sacred character, empowered to do the dirty in the name of upholding the good, by publicly embodying and accentuating the faults of those in error. The jester holds the high and mighty to modesty by saying the unspeakable. The fool, however, is not mandated with any special corrective task. Their fumbling provides food for thought, as it is, without moral claim.
For much of my life I have kept the fool in my shadow, as Jung might call it. In my young adult years I took refuge in the cult of genius, seeking status in a career of gladiatorial academism. Following that I sought success in tech work, as well as belonging in alternative communities. There was a great pretense in my unique value.
These schemes all failed because they were never realistic to begin with. They had no destination, no cash-out point that would answer the memories of isolation from my youth, and dispel once and for all the interpretations of worthlessness and failure that I held. As I burned out and despaired, another great pretense became apparent, although it had been there since the beginning: that my painful memories also had unique value.
The last few years have been a slow process of uprooting the fool-avoidance mentality, in fits and starts, and allowing a wholesome picture of myself. It starts from opening up to the possibility that none of this, my story or who I am, none of it is particularly special. I'm not going to make a name for myself by solving the world's math problems; I'm not going to be a central figure in some social scene; I'm never going to be somebody.
On the other hand, no matter how much I let go of those false aspects of self, surely I'll never achieve vacuity of identity. There is still a person here with their own parts and peculiarities, who wants to invest themself in a healthy engagement with the world. What dreams do I take on instead? And how do I avoid reinfecting the project with my old mistake?
Case in point. For a few years I've been showing up in the world as coach-plus-whatever. I really love my daily work with clients, but I feel a pointed discomfort when it comes to any articulating and spreading what I offer. I have kept under the radar of critical judgement, lest I hear that: I've squandered my many privileges; I deal in meaningless fluff; I promise results when there is only process; I have some special insight to preach; I think I know everything about people. To be honest, this isn't my noble quest for the subtle sweet spot of unimpeachable work. It is my still fearfully resisting situations where others will call me a fool.
We speak out about such things to put them in front of us, and make it more difficult to avoid looking at them squarely. But the lessons must be integrated into one's life, or else the declaration is just a spiritual bypass. The real art is noticing when this aspect of oneself is in play, and then lovingly standing out of its way and handing it the reins to lead. It is already there so it need not be produced or fixed. Over time, one's trust in the basic okayness and basic goodness of the situation will heal.
Thus begins my lookout for ways to allow the fool lead. One powerful foolish behavior already stands out: stumbling and failure as a means of learning and growth. I'm constantly playing the naïf with my clients, asking ignorant or oversimplifying questions as a device to clarify their thinking. I could stand to grow more consistent with it towards myself, at times when perfectionistic judgment lingers. Already much I know in life was learned by mapping out all the ways to know it wrong. But then in my later expression of that knowledge I would only present the ex post facto perfectionistic version. (Consider how one approaches finding a mathematical proof versus how one typically writes it up.) I would probably be a better teacher if I allowed the inclusion of more wrong answers along with the right ones.
I may have to pass through a temporary state of overcompensation, say, a little too much courgage in the conviction. It might be an important experience to invite people's judgment and grow a thicker skin. I'll definitely overuse the word for the next while. But eventually the process will complete as we all anneal towards not taking me seriously at all. I'm just doing my thing over here, a renegade with no rebellion.
P.S. My partner points out that Joan Didion has already covered some of this ground superbly.