Chris Farley

No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be true.
Nathaniel Hawthorne

In one of my previous books, The Tragic Clowns, I wrote about one of my favorite comedians, Chris Farley. Some my find it odd that a person so well known and famous could be a substitute person, but in Chris’ case this pattern was actually quite pervasive. It’s an important point, as many of us make the assumption that the rich and famous have lives that are free from everyday feelings of doubt and insecurity. We assign qualities to others based on actions we see in movies and television. One of my clients was amazed for instance that a man like Owen Wilson could attempt suicide. My research into the inner worlds of several comedians, including Chris Farley’s, led me to believe that a substitute pattern is often at the very core of what drives many of our most well known comedians.

In Chris’ case this started at a very young age, as problems with his weight made him in immediate target of abuse from the other children. His weight clearly created for Chris a self image where he was separate and different than the other kids. In many cases a child will do anything to be like the other kids, but in Chris’ case he took the exact opposite strategy. Realizing that the other kids found his weight to be a source of amusement, Chris decided to make jokes about it before the other kids got the chance. He in fact got so good at it, that his act made him the star in virtually every environment he was ever subjected to.

But the validation, admiration, and even adoration Chris received for making fun of his weight caused a split inside of him that made him terribly uncomfortable in his own skin. We want belonging, all of us, and Chris had found belonging with the richest and most famous people in the world, but the price tag for this sense of belonging was one that cost him his life.

How does this happen? As is the case with many substitute people, he turned to drugs and alcohol to ease the pain that he felt from being forever just outside the circle of the other human beings. The difficulty in confronting this pattern is that to really be able to find this sense of belonging, we first have to make peace with ourselves, and this is something Chris never came close to doing. Literally sitting alone with himself was something that was uncomfortable for Chris, and he often turned to drugs and alcohol to create a temporary cease fire in the war that was going on inside him.

Chris’ inner turmoil brings to mind a quote from Alfred Adler, “The greater the feeling of inferiority that has been experienced, the more powerful is the urge to conquest and the more violent the emotional agitation.” So although Chris was able to combat his inferiority by compensating with a wonderfully entertaining self-deprecating sense of humor, it was clear that this emotional agitation was a powerful and destructive force in his tragic, abbreviated life.

What lesson can we as substitute people take from Chris’ life, after all his case seems to be an unusual and extreme example of this pattern. Having researched and written a couple of books on the nature of humor and how it may be used for both healthy and unhealthy adaptation, I think it is an important question. This pattern of attacking one’s self before others have a chance to is prevalent in many people with the substitute pattern, and is especially common with people who are overweight and often struggling with this problem very publicly.

Kurt Vonnegut said, “Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward.” Although this is a sentiment I certainly agree with, it is also important to note that laughter can be turned excessively against the self, as was the case with Chris Farley. Somewhere along the laughter continuum we have to find the ability to laugh at our shared absurdity as human beings while also balancing our need to take care of ourselves.

A great deal of taking care of ourselves begins with our inner dialogue. Those little things we say audible only in our own heads that judge, criticize, and compare have a tremendous influence on the choices we eventually make, as these thoughts become feelings that then become actions. Over time prolonged negative judgments we make about ourselves take a huge toll, and not only do we begin to believe our self-fulfilling prophecies, we convince others to believe them as well. My guess is we all know someone who seems like they should be in a different station on life, rather it be with a partner who appreciates them or a career that challenges them, who has simply been unable to grasp that those are things they deserve. Perhaps you have been one of these people. I have been as well.

One quote that was of tremendous value to me in confronting this pattern comes from Marianne Williamson, whose books have been an inspiration to many who have struggled to overcome substitute feelings. She says, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

Very powerful words that might hold tremendous meaning in the struggle to overcome feelings of inferiority. But if we reflect thoughtfully enough, and think about our tendency to judge and compare, and make a thorough and honest assessment of how the way we talk to ourselves contributes to these feelings, it is my believe that we can begin to find our light.

In Chris’ case he reflected a tremendous amount of this light, but ultimately he couldn’t see himself the way the rest of the world experienced him on a daily basis. My guess is that many of us fit into this pattern as well. All of us have gifts to offer, every one of us. Fear seems to be the central thing that prevents us from sharing these gifts, and we have to stare this fear down if we are going to truly have a chance to share the lives we were born to lead. My hope is that by sharing Chris’ story I have shown that all of us, from the wealthiest celebrity to the loneliest recluses, have at times felt like they didn’t belong with the rest of the parade. By talking about and accepting that a part of this is a natural human tendency, we can perhaps diminish its power and begin to reconnect with each other.