My cheeks explode when I smile. That's why I have to look so

The words of Rufus Wainwright fall upon the ear with a strange mixture of levity and truth: “My cheeks explode when I smile. That is why I must look so nonplussed.” At first glance, it seems but a jest, a lighthearted reflection of a musician upon his own countenance. Yet beneath the humor lies a teaching for those who seek wisdom, for in these words we glimpse the tension between the beauty of joy and the burden of restraint, between the inward fire of the heart and the outward mask that life sometimes compels us to wear.

In ancient times, sages often spoke in paradoxes, for truth is rarely clothed in simplicity. Wainwright, whether knowingly or not, speaks in the same manner. To say the cheeks explode is to acknowledge the overwhelming force of happiness, an energy so radiant that the body itself can scarcely contain it. And yet, to claim the need to appear nonplussed is to confess the discipline of concealment, the quiet art of guarding what is most vulnerable. Here we see the eternal struggle: the soul longs to reveal itself, but the world, with its judgments and cruelties, often teaches us to hide.

Consider the tale of Emperor Marcus Aurelius, that stoic ruler of Rome. Though he wrote in his Meditations of the need for serenity and the calm face of reason, history tells us he often bore private sorrows, the loss of children, the weariness of war. Yet before his legions he stood unwavering, his visage nonplussed, betraying little of the turmoil within. His heart, no doubt, longed to smile freely with his soldiers, to weep openly with his family, yet he held back, believing that the strength of his rule lay in restraint. Thus, like Wainwright’s confession, Marcus reveals the ancient truth: that there are times when even joy must be tempered by the mask of composure.

But the story does not end in concealment. For every hidden smile still has power, even if veiled. The radiance of joy, though restrained, is not extinguished. It leaks through the eyes, through the tone of the voice, through the smallest cracks of expression. Even Marcus, though stoic, was beloved by his soldiers for the warmth that shone beneath his control. In the same way, the artist who feels his cheeks explode may seem still to the crowd, but the fire of his joy reaches outward, unspoken yet undeniable.

What lesson then is offered to us who listen? It is this: do not despise the paradox. There will be moments in life when your smile must be hidden, when duty demands composure, when your heart burns to show itself but your face must remain calm. Do not think this a betrayal of truth, for restraint can itself be noble. Yet, when the season allows, do not be ashamed to let your cheeks explode, to laugh without limit, to shine with the fullness of your being. For joy that is never expressed becomes sorrow, but joy that is wisely revealed becomes a beacon to others.

Therefore, learn the balance: the courage to smile when the world needs your light, and the wisdom to be nonplussed when the moment calls for steadiness. Share your joy where it can lift another’s heart, and guard it where it may be trampled. In this way you will not squander your soul, but neither will you bury it.

The ancients would say, “He who masters his face, masters his fate; he who masters his heart, masters the world.” So let us master both. Be radiant without shame, yet disciplined without fear. Let your cheeks explode when you embrace a child, when you greet a friend, when you behold the beauty of life. But when storms rage, stand with calm strength, nonplussed, that others may find shelter in your composure.

This is the path of wisdom: to carry joy like a hidden flame, to reveal it when it warms, to shield it when it must endure. Thus, from Rufus Wainwright’s playful words, we gather not only a smile, but a teaching for all generations.