As a child I was the class clown.

Despite the fact that others clamoured for my role, none were my equal. I was peerless in my ability to find the jokes, puns or idiocy in what any teacher said.

My timing when it came to flipping out of a chair by mistake was incomparable.

“Jeeezuss-keeriste Jimmy, you’re always after attention. You always end up getting the wrong kind of attention” was my father’s regular lamentation.

In this post truth internet world, it’s difficult to say what the right kind of attention looks like. Through all of the noise, it’s difficult to say how to get attention in the first place.

Me?

Even beyond childhood I would look for the wrong type of attention.

Slapstick was my preferred method.

Walking into signs and trash cans ‘by mistake’ was regularly punctuated by jumping into a head stand on things.

My favourite attention seeking activity took place at a pub.

The pub was a windowless place in the basement. To get in you descended a really long flight of stairs. This often had a comedic impact as patrons struggled with them as they departed.

One of the people laughing was a girl that I was interested in. She was sitting near the entrance at the bottom of the stairs.

Chevy Chase was a hero of mine.

He did lots of falling.

I decided to imitate him.

Instead of stumbling up the stairs, I decided to use my theatre school skills and fling myself down the stairs.

Falling down the stairs is something that I can do. I’m quite proud of my ability to fall.

And?

It seems that launching ones self down a flight of stairs into the Seahorse Tavern is not ‘the best’ method of finding a mate. It never worked. I attracted, yet again, the wrong type of attention.

The young woman whose attention I sought turned away from me with horrified dismissal.

My bumbling mating ritual had failed.

Some folks laughed though, as such, I kept doing it. Eventually the bouncers threatened to ban me from the tavern.

All of this, despite my skills in falling down stairs unharmed. I did not, for the life of me, understand why people didn’t appreciate my trick. I couldn’t believe that people didn’t think it was cool that I could do that.

Instead, people got uncomfortable. People looked away. I was problematic before problematic was problematic.

Eventually, I gave up.

I wanted attention to make a connection.

Instead of merely having the courage to go and talk to someone who caught my eye, I concocted elaborate plans to get them to notice me.

Instead of merely trying to strike up a conversation, I risked life and limb for a laugh.

It’s pretty ordinary to struggle to take the first step and make the first move when engaging with someone or something new. Whether it’s reaching out to talk to a mentor about career goals, connecting with someone we admire for guidance or seeking a love interest we get in our own way.

The same goes for changing jobs or starting any creative project. We make things more difficult and more fraught than they need to be.

Years later, I met this woman again. We reminisced about my idiocy at the pub.

“You know,” she said, “if you just asked me out for coffee, I likely would have gone out with you.”

It’s like the old saying goes:

The squeaky wheel gets the grease. That’s not an invitation to get rusty.