A place to belong

Husband-and-wife comedians and commentators Michele A’Court and Jeremy Elwood share their views.

ELast weekend, two very different yet somewhat similar events took place that made me ruminate on the nature of fitting in. One was the Classic Comedy Club in Auckland celebrating its 20th anniversary, and the other was the New Zealand National Spelling Bee in Wellington.

For me, The Classic has been a personal and professional stalwart since the beginning. It’s more than just a venue – there are plenty of pubs, theatres and other spaces that I have performed at that fill that need – it’s a place where I can go and know that there will be a group of other people who either do what I do or are familiar enough with the concept of what I do that they don’t feel the need to ask stupid questions about it. Believe me, that’s a rare thing.

Although I have never taken part in a spelling bee, I’m reasonably sure that the participants there would feel something similar. Spelling, like comedy, is not the kind of thing that lends itself to a wide social circle. Both are individual pursuits, and both run the risk of having people who have no experience of them looking at you a little strangely when you tell them that’s what you’re into.

So to have a space, or an event, where you can share a few hours with like-minded others, is something very special. It’s the same veryone should get to feel like they’re terrific at something. I don’t mean in a talent-show-winning, next-big-thing, anointed-by-Simon-Cowell-way.

I mean knowing quietly within ourselves that we’re damn good at doing a thing that might be useful if push ever comes to shove.

I make reasonably good chilli. Not the best chilli you’ve ever had, but I can whip it in up someone else’s kitchen while chatting to old friends and keeping an eye on the grandchild. Enough to feed 10 people if there’s bread.

This is not what I’m known for. Like millions of other people, I define myself and my place in the world by my work. And like millions of other women, I am frequently torn between doing that work (paying the bills, maintaining a career, supporting my family) and doing the other “right thing” by my family (being there). For the last 25 years, I’ve often put work first, believing that was the best thing I could do for all of us.

Last Saturday evening I got a call from my daughter. Seven weeks from her due date, she was in hospital with rogue contractions being monitored. I cancelled a gig, went to bed early, and drove three hours the next morning to be with her.

It should have been a no-brainer, but it took a lot of brain to make that choice, and to reach a moment of clarity when I reason people play social sports, or join book clubs, or take part in marathons – having a chance to do something as part of a group that you would ordinarily only do by yourself is a way of justifying yourself as more than just an individual.

The more niche your hobby or passion is, the more important this becomes. Anyone who has held an interest in something outside of the mainstream will know the level of disdain or outright hostility this can engender in others, particularly when you’re young.

I’ve always been a bit of an outsider, mainly due to my moving around a lot in my early years. My accent never quite fit, I didn’t have the same cultural milestones, and I wasn’t into the right sports. So for me, music and theatre became my safe places, where I could connect with others who shared a similarly disparate view of the world. I was lucky in that these same fellow outsiders became my colleagues later in life, but for those who live and work in the so-called “real” world, having an escape can be at least a blessing, and often a literal lifeline.

So, to the spellers, the gamers, the bookworms and the rest, I hope you have a place or a time to be yourself, surrounded by others who understand you. realised I wasn’t actually choosing between work and family, just deciding what I most wanted to do for me.

The contractions subsided sufficiently on Sunday afternoon for Holly to be allowed home. This was supposed to be Baby Shower day. I called friends, and whanau came over. At the supermarket, my granddaughter helped me race around and shouted: “Let’s do this!” at regular intervals, followed by: “We’re doing it, Michy!” Which was almost true except I forgot the mince on the first trip and we had to go back.

Meanwhile, at home, each person did the thing they do best. Party decorations appeared, along with a fabulous cake in the shape of a stretch-and-grow with blue frosting. (It’s a boy, plus blue food is hilarious – it makes your tongue look like a giraffe’s.)

Each person played to their strengths: dry witticisms, warm banter, general enthusiasm, children’s entertainment, improvisation with a vegetable peeler when no-one could find a cheese grater, inspired posing for group selfies, kitchen clean-up, helpful ante-natal advice and a robust round of charades. Everyone, I noticed (while slurping up my blue prosecco) was totally brilliant at something – including Holly, who managed to preside over all the festivities while also keeping very, very still.