I can’t be soft

"I can't be soft," she said.
It came out like a confession.
We’d just met. At the gym, of all places.
Her posture was tight. Her laugh was nervous.

And then something strange happened.
She softened.

Not a lot. Just a moment. But enough to notice.
Like her body was relieved she finally said it out loud.

This is what the clown understands.
That real transformation doesn’t come with a dramatic speech. It arrives sideways. In contradiction.
In a sentence that betrays itself.

The Fool’s eye view

The clown is always aiming for something.
To be loved. To win. To get it right.
They’re just like the rest of us - trying hard, hoping no one sees the crack.

And they fail.
Spectacularly. Publicly. Repeatedly.

But that failure is the point.

The catharsis is in the collapse.
The moment they fall flat is the moment we, the audience, finally exhale.
Because we’ve been holding our breath trying to keep it together too.

The clown gives us permission to stop pretending we’re nailing it.
They reveal that underneath all that effort is something soft.
Something ridiculous. Something true.

Trying hard is not the problem

The clown isn’t lazy or loose.
They’re committed.
They want to succeed. And that’s what makes their failure generous.

They’re not mocking the effort.
They’re exposing it.

Their honesty lives in the attempt.
Their genius is in the gap between the dream and the faceplant.

Which is why softness isn’t passive.
It’s not collapsing into the couch and quitting life.
It’s the brave act of showing your try.
Of letting people see the effort and the crack.

Softness in real life might look like:

• Wanting to say something wise, but saying something weird instead

• Getting emotional in a meeting and not apologising for it

• Laughing when you’re overwhelmed because it’s the only thing left to do

• Admitting you care, even when it’s uncool

• Forgetting the lines and saying “I’ve forgotten the lines”

This isn’t just clown logic

It’s human logic.

The more we try to hide our flaws, the more tension builds.
And when that tension breaks - whether in a clown show or a gym conversation - it creates relief.
Laughter.
Presence.

So when she said, “I can’t be soft,”
…what I heard was a crack forming.

And through it, something honest came through.

Not on stage.
Not in a workshop.
Just in life.

Which is the real performance we’re all trying to survive.