Me, to the Universe: Thanks for having me
I didn’t expect to find an epiphany in a one-man show performed by legendary Canadian comedian and actor Bruce McCulloch.
In case you’re unfamiliar with Bruce–and anything is possible–google “Kids in the Hall” and come back. I’ll wait.
Oh good, you’re back! They were incredibly funny, right? And Bruce was probably the weirdest and most avant garde of the quintet despite his hesher* exterior. Imagine my surprise at realizing, after his show, that he likely has the biggest heart of all of them.
As part of a film festival happening in my town, Bruce acted in his most recent show, Tales of Bravery and Stupidity. He wrote it in the hazy blurry days post-Covid lockdown as a way to anchor himself, to make something out of those uncertain days. Sure, there are jokes and silly songs, but overall, it is him revealing his heart. The way strangers can be friends even if they never meet in real life; the way we laugh about the foibles of ourselves and those we love. And I confess I didn’t expect that. I went with every intention of laughing and the thrill of seeing an adolescent idol in the flesh. I didn’t expect to feel kinship and recognition from someone I would have pegged as a weird cynic. You see, I have often thought of myself as a weird cynic.
I can pretend cynicism; I can fake it. But truly, I have never been cynical. I have the reputation in my family of being the Sensitive One, the kid who feels things too deeply. While this perception is grating, when I see how most of my family operates emotionally, I realize there is no shame in feeling things deeply.
But this fake cynicism, this is part of the armor I gave myself to move through the world. I know the world can be cruel to the tenderhearted. It’s why I idolized Riot Grrrls. I loved that their snarl declared: Bring it on. I can fucking take it.
Cry in private, sneer in public.
We only seem to celebrate women who act like men, but with better clothes and nicer shoes. Tough women are lauded, tough women tell women if you want to succeed, if you want to play with the boys, you gotta be tough. There is no room for softness because people don’t believe that softness is also toughness. As someone who feels big feels pretty much on the regular, it is incredibly painful to squeeze yourself into that box. It can be done (ask me how!), it just isn’t sustainable. Bruce McCulloch seems to be a kindred spirit: looking tough, but empathetic at heart.
I’ve learned to embrace who I really am: a sensitive bighearted weirdo. I discarded the armor sometime ago; it went into the pile of Things I Do Not Need to Hold Onto Anymore. It doesn’t elude me that the pile of things were accumulated from family hurts and dangerous habits. Having armor like this isn’t always negative; I clearly created it to protect me. But it can fester and become less armor, more made of you. Years of therapy have helped me dismantle it. Being able to chuck it away has shown me despite my kind heart, I was always tough. I just was tough on my own terms, not anyone else’s.
The world is a mess, it’s true. We are surrounded by the callous and greedy, the heartless and hurtful. And often–hopefully without intent–we find ourselves acting the same way when we are treated as faceless. (Social media is a perfect example of this.)
I can be quick to anger–it’s part of the old armor–so I do my best to be positive in my everyday exchanges, whether they be online or in real life. I try to give the energy I want to receive: supportive, kind, encouraging. I don’t have to tell you it can be a challenge when it’s clear someone out there is having a bad day and has decided to be nasty. But that’s on them, not me. While I hope their day gets better, it doesn’t mean I have to carry their bad mood with me.
It is incredible how long it took me to learn that simple perspective shift.
For me, Bruce McCulloch’s one-man show was a reminder that we are human and we aren’t perfect. But we have to laugh at ourselves with love. We should remember that yes, the world is a mess, but there’s so much beauty in the mess. I think we look too much for the big things to do this and lose sight of the little ones. Like, my mom has Alzheimer’s and it sucks so hard but I refuse to let it color everything in my life. I hold on to how she has always supported me, how she accepts me and celebrates my weirdness.
At the end of the day, I express amazement at being alive. I mean, I am amazed that any of us are here at all, to be honest. As I get older, my brain screeches to a halt when I think about the fact I live on a fragile blue ball suspended in the middle of so much emptiness. We are so vulnerable, but we are also so special. As far as we know, there is no creature like us in the vastness of space and sometimes we shouldn’t lose sight of that. This isn’t to dismiss the hurt we do to each other–wars, famine, personal violence–but I wish we would remember that it’s improbable that humans or anything of the world surrounding us even exists. It should fill you, as it does me, with love.
It fills Bruce McCulloch, a self-described “weird little fucker,” with love. I understand that better now. While to most it may sound morbid, I have decided that if I ever have a tombstone, I’d like it to say: “I was happy to just be here.” Because honestly?
I am pretty happy to just be here.
*Heshers! You know, the metal kids with the denim jackets and trucker caps?