Kids with strict parents learn to be a good little boys or girls who rarely let their opinions be known, speak only when spoken to, and structure their whole self-identity to be able to get love and praise from their parents. The parent usually operates in this domineering way because they had a hard childhood and they are trying their best to teach the child how to avoid that pain. “Don’t go here, it’s dangerous. Don’t act that way, you’ll be looked down upon. Down share too much, you’ll be ridiculed.” Because the parent never healed their own inner child, the self-replicating pattern continues.
In my own childhood, I picked this up subconsciously, unconsciously believing at times that I wasn’t good enough on my own, and that I needed to adjust my thoughts, opinions, and desires so that I would be better accepted by others. This shaped me into a well-oiled people pleaser and conflict avoider.
There is a deep seated need in all of us to belong, and it hurts when people reject or condemn us. We fear being alone and the perception that we are unworthy or unlovable. We therefore go to great measures to win others over in order to prevent rejection, abandonment, and loneliness.
I had an interesting dynamic of parents who seemed to be polar opposites. Dad was strict but loving, and my mom was very loving but had a huge lack of self worth; so much so that she was hospitalized a few times due to clinical depression. I felt like I had to watch what I did and said around my dad for fear of getting in trouble or soliciting an unexpected reaction, and I had the job of cheering my mom up whenever and however I could. The perfect ecosystem to evolve my abilities to adapt my personality to fit other’s needs. I learned to act a certain way around my dad and a certain way around my mom, neither place really learning to be my true self.
The skill that I seemed to have a knack for was making both my parents laugh. Both my mom and dad can be quite witty and are often the life of the party if they are in the right mood for it. I took in what I saw in them and unconsciously took full-time classes in comedy, absorbing a litter more; a tip here a trick there. I got good at reading faces and testing people to see what they would react to.
I made a silly face and got a smirk. A funny sound got a giggle. But me as a 5 year old pretending to die a horrible, painful death all because of how bad it tasted when trying my mom’s beer? Now the whole family is laughing hysterically! Everyone’s smile lighting up the room in a single moment all because of what I was able to do.
My comedy journey’s stars aligned with the most pivotal year of a certain actor’s movie career. An actor non other than Jim Carey.
In 1994, he starred in The Mask, Dumb & Dumber, and then Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. I was hooked from day one. To my 7yr old brain, observing Jim dramatically conga-ing to the Cuban Beat, shooting an owl with a champagne cork, and crawling naked out of an animatronic rhino’s butthole was like watching Leonardo Di Vinci paint the Sistine Chapel.
Jim Carrey had descended down the mountain of Saini with the stone tablets firmly clutched in his hands, to personally give me the instructions for how to rule my own little world through comedy. I was like the character in Indiana Jones who had his face melted off when looking at the Ark of the Covenant. My mind was blown by this style of comedy, liquifying my already malleable personality into a molten alloy, filling the grooves of this stone instruction manual to make a carbon copy transfer.
I learned how to fall down without getting hurt, how to find the right time to make a fart noise, and how to turn my face into the most grotesque of contortions.
Conditions were absolutely perfect for me to become the entertainer, storyteller, punchline dropping mic blaster, and the pretending-to-eat-my-homework class clown. I was unwavering in my quest to become a center of attention performer, craving the spotlight of any stage I could occupy.
The problem with making people laugh being roughly 98.235% of my personality, is that you can’t turn it off. You can’t take anything seriously. I ran from bad feelings and negative emotions like one flees from a horde of zombies. I avoided people who had no sense of humor and was able to make friends easily with those who did.
It wasn’t until the last year or so that I’ve been able to start dismantling this model and need to be a certain way around others. It’s still a conscious effort on many days for me to just be as I am around my friends and my wife. I feel like I have to always be in an upbeat mood and always be funny, especially around friends and acquaintances. It’s scary for me to show up as I am and how I may feel. I’m not necessarily saying that we all should wear our emotions on our sleeves all the time, but allowing ourselves to admit that we feel like we’re in a funk or angry or frustrated and be vulnerable enough with others to let them know. Those who truly care and love me will accept all the sides and dynamics of my personality and not just the aspects that make them feel good.
Understanding how my comedic personality has shaped me is helpful because I realized that I’ve unconsciously made being “the funny guy” my identity in so many ways – and it’s not something that I HAVE to always be. I’m really thankful for my humor and I know that it brings a lot of joy to others, but it doesn’t have to define me.
That’s the beauty with learning to let go of our identity/egoic structures – we realize that we’re so much more than the boxes that we’ve placed around ourselves. The funny guy, the drummer/guitar player/songwriter, the world-traveller, the outdoorsman, Texan, etc… well… Texan might be a hard one to let go of. Haha! If you’re from Texas, you know what I mean. All these things are just labels and don’t fully define me.
We are all in a constant state of metamorphosis. Who we are today isn’t who we were last year, or even last month. Embracing this fact allows me to be a little more authentic to who I am right here in the present.
I’m not who I was, but I am wholeheartedly me.
Taylor Blanpied 
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