Live, LAUGH, Love

Life is seriously so funny.

“I pretty much go through life waiting for the next funny thing to happen, and sometimes I cause that funny thing.”

Steven“Walt” Swanson

If you think life isn’t funny, try making a plan and watch how things play out. Whether or not we are conscious of it, our minds are endlessly imagining and negotiating with the universe—always working to predict, and manipulate it to our “advantage.” But if, for just a moment, we can observe the reality of our predicament—what we discover is a real-life sit com. Hilarity at every turn.

Irony is by far the best source of laughter, for me. Life will thwart any notion of control I have, but ohhh how I cling to that mirage—especially in my relatively privileged existence.

Which brings me to the saga of our family room rug. We bought the kind that’s “stress free”, meaning we can wash away anything that looks or smells bad with a trip to the laundromat. But as it turns out, that particular errand takes too much time—so we go to great lengths to protect our precious rug from the inevitable impact of our crusty old canine. Last night, Walt and I experienced a shared paralysis as Roscoe wretched and gagged over it’s freshly cleaned surface, daring not intervene for fear of vicious retaliation. Even in a dicey situation such as this, we find comfort in knowing there’s always the Laundry King.

But life is also made of things that aren’t so easy to launder. Like dealing with with other people. Like having to work, being married, and parenting unruly children.

I recall the days when my little Jolie would need to be tossed over my shoulder, kicking and screaming, upon our exit from every shoe store—especially the shangri la at Nordstrom. I held tight as she gave everything she had in her fight for the joy that can only be found by teetering in heeled shoes. I remember the hot sweat of embarrassment as I wrestled her tiny body, my apologies to everyone around us drowned by her screams.

But after we recovered, there was laughter. I loved that stinker so much- lived in awe of her spirit and her determination. I loved how much she humbled me, tore away at my supposed composure, made me see just how ridiculous we are. I like to imagine God (or the universe, or whatever your word is) gazing down with this kind of love, as we flail around like toddlers against all our unfulfilled wants. There’s undeniable grace in that kind of love, a deep compassion that emerges when we laugh at ourselves.

And the Truth about humor goes deep when “unfunny” circumstances shake us to our core, when we are crying our hearts out, or raging against what has us squirming in pain or discomfort. Even then, we have this amazing gift of humor to point us toward the significance of our insignificance. I’m so grateful for the gift of laughter with people who have endured the hardest shit, because they have become the realest version of humanity, and the funniest. They are a walking testament to power of laughter—a kind of clarity in the midst heavy confusion. It lightens my load.

In my early 20s, I had to be hospitalized after weeks of relentless panic attacks. One night as I lay in my bed, feeling like I was truly losing my mind—I asked my roommate to pray for me. Melva was recovering from a crack addiction, and a lifetime of trauma. But she jumped into action, shouting out to God to come into that room and save me (and prompting the nurses to come see what the commotion was all about.) She was told she needed to quiet down, that other patients were sleeping, but there was no stopping Melva. She yelled “Daddy was a preacher, and he told me to never stop when the Lord was speakin!!” She proceeded to pray more loudly—no holds barred—until that beautiful prayer was fully unleashed.

After a few seconds of “yikes", I realized there was nothing to do but go with it and I started to giggle in awe at power of this woman. Afterward, we laughed so hard together, the kind that brings tears to your eyes, that has you trying to catch your breath, the kind you can’t stop even if you tried. Those few moments forever connected me to an angel whose story was so different from my own. Laughing with her released me from my fears, from the need to be anything but who I am, and reminded me of my capacity to endure all things.

So I thank God for my “sense” of humor. For the hilarity of kids, dogs, and all things beyond my control. For a husband who reminds me to keep looking for the next funny thing. For the miracle that is laughter. And for its eternal message of love for this life, as is.