Finding Humor When Your Life is a Mess
Living Happy
Quick note: This is one of my first Living Happy posts before I had any friends/readers on here.
I didn’t import my old newsletter list because that felt weird to me, so it was basically 12 people who read this the first go around. Thank you to those 12 people!
A long time ago, I was married to someone else and his family were lovely, but they didn’t get me, not how I thought or acted or laughed.
Whenever we’d visit them, Em and I would go take walks around the wealthy communities where they lived to get away from the quiet tension in the house where most of the day was spent determining if they should go to the country club for dinner, and one time, right after a random Derek Jeter sighting, Em said, “They aren’t like our family, are they?”
I had some problems fitting in with my ex’s family. He once told me it was because he was “blue blood,” and I wasn’t.
I wanted to know if Em had picked up on that class difference so when she said that about our families not being alike, I asked, “Why do you think that, baby?”
“Because they never laugh.”
“Oh.”
“They aren’t very happy, are they?”
“I’m not sure, buddy.”
I wasn’t sure. I’m still not. They should have been happy if wealth has a direct correlation to happiness or if health or education does.
But she was right. They didn’t laugh. They read the Times. They talked about where to go to dinner. They talked about politics and life insurance policies. But they rarely laughed.
My family has always laughed. Even when talking about politics and life insurance policies.
Someone would be dying and we’d all admit it, but we’d also find humor in random moments with nurses, in hospital gowns, in our mom being intubated but still wanting to put on her lipstick. There was always poignancy and resonating moments where we confronted death, but always humor too.
Some people don’t have that. Not even in their daily lives.
This week one of my writing students wrote in their packet to me:
And it occurred to me that the humor is in the humanity of the moment. We are ridiculous creatures, but we are also blessed with the ability to laugh at ourselves. Sometimes the more tragic a situation is, the more we need to find the humor.
We have all heard stories about firefighters, EMTs, soldiers using humor to cope and survive.
It can make stressful situations less stressful. It can increase social support.
It also can fall flat. A lot.
I am on a board, a very tense board, and thanks to COVID we’re always tense. I am always cracking self-deprecating jokes, circling back to something someone said before, doing something self-effacing. Not many people laugh. Almost everyone at all the other boards I’m on laugh when I do these things. Not here. Not this one.
Though it’s full of especially lovely humans, this board is easily one of the most dysfunctional boards I’ve ever been on.
Even though none of those board members smile, humor creates social bonds and lowers tension even when we don’t realize it. Unless you’re using a hostile humor, people know that you’re not about to antagonistic, and that’s something we all need in this world.
Humor shouldn’t be rare. It shouldn’t be endangered. It should be embraced for its healing qualities.
And as Shaun, the kiddo, and I travel through their trials and diagnoses, clinician after clinician, after random person, after friend says, “You guys are still laughing though. You’re so happy.”
Yes. We are. Even when we cry, we know we will be happy again hopefully. We cling to laughter and joyful moments because we know how much they save us, how much they matter.
And here’s another truth: Having a kid who is having problems with anger or with depression or when anything doesn’t mean that you have to have those problems too. You can still love that kid and yourself. You can still find joy and humor.
As Daniel Miller, M.D., writes for Psychology Today in an article “Humor, Serious Illness, and End of Life,”
“Remember, when we are suffering, our worldview shrinks tremendously. It shrinks into the black hole of suffering with a mass of a thousand suns. Hope, joy, pleasantries, goodwill, connection with others, meaning in life just disappear. We become less than human. We are taken over by the suffering. What humor allows is the reconnection of one’s suffering with their humanity and brings just a bit of temporary joy back into view. It’s not a panacea, but it makes its mark. It’s a therapy that only we humans can share with other humans without needing any technology, pills, or procedures. All that is required is lived experience, a bit of tact, and a sense of humor.”
And love.
Good humor? It requires empathy and love. The ability to grow through light shed. The ability to find the humanity of the moment—all moments. But more than that. It’s about the ability to find the humanity in ourselves.
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Thanks, my friend. My family has always found humor in all the shit we've faced. My dad always said that he had to laugh because that felt better than crying. Usually. :)