I got through my teen years by being a bit of a clown.

Diane Cilento once confessed, “I got through my teen years by being a bit of a clown.” Though simple in sound, these words carry the weight of a hidden wisdom. They tell us that life’s storms, especially in the restless years of youth, may sometimes be endured not with armor or sword, but with laughter, wit, and the playful mask of jest. For adolescence is a battlefield unlike any other: a time of confusion, of doubt, of the first taste of sorrow and the first clash with the world. And in such a season, to take up the mantle of the clown is to survive with spirit unbroken.

The ancients too revered the power of humor. Among the Greeks, jesters and satyrs spoke truths that kings feared to utter, using laughter as their shield. In Rome, the mime and the fool were allowed to mock even the powerful, for their foolishness concealed wisdom. To be a clown is not always to be empty of thought—it is often to hold the deepest pain behind a mask of joy, and in doing so, to rise above despair. Cilento’s words remind us that survival in hardship sometimes comes not from solemn defiance, but from lightness of heart.

Consider the tale of Winston Churchill in his youth. As a boy, he struggled in his schooling and was thought by many to be of little promise. Yet, he often used wit and humor to charm those around him, softening the blows of ridicule and failure. This humor, far from being a frivolous distraction, became one of his greatest weapons in later life, when his words rallied a weary nation against the dark tide of war. Like Cilento, Churchill discovered that the spirit of the clown, when embraced with courage, can turn trial into triumph.

But let us not mistake this wisdom for frivolity. The clown is not one who runs from suffering, but one who transforms it. To laugh in the face of hardship is to declare: “You will not master me.” The young who choose humor as their companion discover resilience; the weight of sorrow is lightened when carried on the wings of laughter. It is a shield that softens the arrows of cruelty, a balm that heals the secret wounds of loneliness, and a torch that illuminates even the darkest corridors of youth.

Still, there is a warning: the mask of the clown can also become a prison if worn too tightly. Laughter that hides all pain, jokes that silence all truth, can prevent the soul from seeking healing. The wisdom lies in balance: to use humor not as escape, but as strength. For the true clown does not deny life’s difficulties; he meets them with a smile, reminding himself and others that even the heaviest burden is lighter when shared in joy.

The lesson for us, then, is clear. In times of trial—whether in teen years or in the long struggles of adulthood—we must learn the sacred art of laughter. When anger threatens to consume, find the jest that softens it. When fear tightens the chest, speak the word that sparks a smile. When loneliness presses heavily, share humor with a friend, for in that moment both hearts are lifted. To cultivate this spirit is not weakness but a form of courage, the courage to face the world without letting it steal your joy.

Practical steps can be taken: Do not fear looking foolish, for humility is the soil in which laughter grows. Keep company with those who lift your spirit, rather than those who weigh it down. In moments of stress, pause and search for the lighter side, for it will always be there, waiting to be discovered. And above all, let laughter become your offering to others—it may be the single spark that saves another from despair.

Thus, Cilento’s confession is more than personal memory; it is a teaching for all who walk the uncertain road of life. To survive, to endure, to grow—one need not always be the warrior or the sage. Sometimes, one must simply be the clown, for the clown knows the secret that tragedy itself forgets: that no matter how fierce the storm, the human spirit still has the power to laugh. And in that laughter lies survival, strength, and the promise of brighter days.