Jarod Kintz wrote “laughter is the sound of the soul
dancing. My soul probably looks like Fred Astaire.”
I used to laugh.
At lot. Uncontrollably. And usually at inopportune times. I didn't mean to. It
just happened. And I couldn't stop. You know, those belly laughs when you lose
all control of your muscles and fall over? Over things that aren't even funny.
Yeah, that was me. The control freak who lost control at the drop of a hat.
Once in high
school, Alex took me to one of the art museums in Bal Boa Park. We were in the section with
abstract art which neither of us understood. It was just so bazaar that we
decided to make up stories to explain each work. Some stories were boring and
some were really silly or stupid. It was one of the boring explanations that
got me giggling. And before I knew it, I had to hold onto the wall before I
fell on the floor. Once I regained control of myself, we moved on and I was
okay until something in his next story alluded to the one that had set me off,
and there I went again. The guard in the museum glared at me, and I stifled my
laughter. But he kept watching me, and Alex made a joke about him which set me
off all over again. The guard finally approached us and told me if I couldn't
control myself, we'd have to leave. Oh boy! That wasn't funny, but I could feel
the laugh rising in my chest and out it burst like a snort! I so didn't mean
to! I swear I wasn't laughing at the guard! I wasn't trying to be
disrespectful. I just couldn't help it! But he made us leave anyway. Alex never
let me live it down that I got kicked out of an art museum.
Another time,
Jeremy and I were walking around Old Town and Persidio
Park. This was the date
when he kept bringing up the subject of kissing. I was thoroughly frustrated
and kept changing the subject because I was not interested. But he persisted.
We were sitting on a picnic table under a tree, and he pointed up where I saw
he had conveniently picked a spot directly under some mistletoe! The little
sneak! Didn't he get it? Why wouldn't he quit? So I scooted away 2 feet to make
it known that I was not going to let him kiss me. Like something in a
movie, a white blob dropped right where I had been sitting! I told him it was a
sign; we were not meant to kiss. And I started cracking up. Oh, I know I
shouldn't have. I was not trying to make fun of him. I just thought it was so
ironic. I don't even know how he reacted to that since I was crying from
laughing so hard, I couldn't see straight. Fortunately, I was already sitting down,
or I'm sure I would have collapsed. Much later, he offered me his hand to help
me up some steps, but before I could take it...I am not kidding...a bird pooped
right in his palm! I just about died laughing. The poor guy must have felt
totally humiliated and I was surely making it worse. It's a miracle Jeremy
persisted and even made it to boyfriend status, only to find himself dumped
when the kiss turned out to be bland and devoid of any kind of spark.
After I returned
home from college, I ran into Nathan who had lived in my apartment complex in Utah and was staying in San Diego for the summer. He drove a stick
shift, and I was looking to buy my first car and preferred a standard. But it
had been several years since I'd driven one, so I asked him to reteach me.
Nathan was a very quiet and serious kind of guy, but very kind and patient.
Even so, the amount of times I stalled in heavy traffic probably would have
frustrated him if it wasn't for the fact that I kept laughing. People would
honk, and I would just laugh. Someone even flipped me the bird; I smiled and
waved.
Nathan was
easy-going and courteous and everything, but he was just...dull. Then I met Rex
and he was like a constant stream of standup comedy, even if he was sarcastic
and crass. My laughter finally found a proper place. Well, most of the time. I
remember in church after he'd been silly, I was trying to suppress my laughter
during the prayer. I was doing a pretty good job keeping it silent, even if my
shoulders were shaking with my inaudible snickering. Beside me, Rex let out a
little snort and it set me off into loud giggles. I was so embarrassed. He
later told me he hadn't really laughed, but made the noise just to spur it out
of me. Sometimes, in the year that followed, I think he'd make me laugh just to
see me fall over (or wet my pants when I was pregnant with my first).
Apparently, I
inherited this curse of laughter from Mom. Like her, I would get in trouble at
school for laughing without cause. And my little sister had the same affliction.
We live in different states, but on the rare occasions we are able to get
together, we will laugh till we cry and can’t breathe.
But before I
convince my reader that I believe this uncontrollable laughter is a blight and
a nuisance, I insist that even if it makes me feel weak and powerless, it
actually makes me stronger and more vigorous. It's a well-spring of happiness. Unfortunately, within a year of getting
married, I misplaced my laugh. I thought it was because I’d gotten older and
had outgrown it amidst the seriousness of responsible adulthood. Ten years later, when I realized it was gone,
like Peter Pan's lost shadow, I became determined to find it. Laughter gives
life character and lightness. Sometimes, life is so heavy, it just needs a little
mirth to give it a boost.
In fact, life can
get so difficult that without laughter, you might break. And I did.
In 2012, I was so stressed from carrying the burdens of family life that
I burned out. I didn’t know why, but
suddenly, at age 32, I alternated between crying and screaming. I was overwhelmed and angry and completely
unhappy. I also became sick to my
stomach, and food of every kind made me bloated and tired as my digestive
system shut down in its flight-or-fight response to my stress-induced breakdown.
You would think
that being married to a funny guy would keep the fire of laughter burning
bright. But the jokes and silliness died
as Rex became reticent and withdrawn as his the euphoria of being in love faded
and his bitterness and depression set in again.
As was revealed by Robin William’s suicide, comedy is sometimes a way
for people with depression or other emotional disorders to mask their
struggles. At the time, I didn’t realize
that my husband’s negativity and lack of connection with me had infected me and
was at the root of my emotional wreck.
After analyzing my
life to determine why I was so unhappy, I still did not suspect the man who
adored and worshipped me. I knew I was
stressed from his cyclical unemployment, our financial strain, and my job of
stay-at-home-mom. But then I also realized it was more than simple burn
out. I was lonely, partnerless in
parenting, lacked friends and adult playtime, and lacked the pursuit of
personal goals or interests. I had spent
my married life trying to care for my family at the expense of my own
happiness. It was then that I decided I had to take responsibility for finding
my laugh again.
But how? I went to comedy shows, and although they
were funny, I didn’t laugh. I attended a
new type of a self-help group called Laughter Yoga where they prompt you to
force a laugh until it becomes real and they tell you to make silly faces, but
it made me feel even more stupid and frustrated. Not only was it impossible to laugh, but I
couldn’t even give a genuine smile. It
occurred to me that not only my laugh was missing, but so was my happy. I
wasn’t depressed or sad; I was just completely drained of any positive energy
and had nothing left. How could I get it
back?
I had been taught
that happiness was the result of giving to others and the more you get outside
yourself and make others happy, the happier you will be. But it turned out that, like everything, you
should do that in moderation. Over-giving
can drain you if you never get replenished.
I lost my laugh as a result of losing myself to the care of others. Not only did I not look after myself, but I
spent all my time consoling a very negative partner and attending to the needs
of a demanding family.
I stopped reading
and listening to the angry cries of injustice in the world and replaced that
media with encouraging blogs. I weeded
out negative friends on facebook and subscribed to positive news feeds. I made a list of things that made me happy
and actively sought them out. I stopped
over-serving my family and tried to force them to take responsibility for
themselves. I asked for help from my
spouse, and although I got resistance and resentment instead, at least I made
the effort to make changes. I read books
on personal boundaries and started making changes to end codependency in my
relationship.
But the biggest
contribution to my cure was dance. It
helped me find myself again. When I went
out to dance against my family’s wishes, not only did it feel like home, but it
also opened the door to a new kind of family.
I found friends who were similar to me and also shared their positive
energy with me. Their happiness sparked
my own. At first, I was told by many dance
partners that I needed to smile more. Little
by little, like the Grinch whose heart grew 3 times, my mouth started to turn
up. But like jumpstarting a car battery,
others could only ignite my happiness; it was up to me to maintain it and keep
it running.
When I returned
home, my smile faded and darkness fell upon me.
I didn’t understand why I couldn’t keep it. Suddenly, one day, when I was happily dancing
by myself to upbeat music at home and my husband walked in the door from work,
the realization hit me like cold wind in the face: the man who once made me
laugh now killed it. The negativity and
bitterness that oozed from his demeanor and spewed from his lips was like tar
on the dance floor. It didn’t matter
that he adored me and slathered me with compliments when the only other words
he spoke to me were complaints.
A flame cannot
continue to burn without air, and when it is smothered by neediness and
negativity, it is no wonder the light goes out.
The day my husband walked in the door and changed the music to dark
lyrics expressing feelings of hopelessness and being misunderstood, I suddenly
stopped feeling like dancing. In fact, I
stopped feeling like doing anything and my heart shrunk 3 sizes while I watch
my husband slump on the couch and fall asleep.
It was a long and
intentional journey, an uphill battle against the resistance of my family, but
I made the changes in my life to incorporate more of what made my soul
dance. I spent more and more time
surrounding myself with friends outside my home and less time with the man who
drained me emotionally. Little by
little, my laugh returned. It had
nothing to do with things being funny.
It had everything to do with my outlook on life, the people with whom I
associated, and the things I did for myself rather than in constant service to
others.
The more I
distanced myself from the toxic influences in my life, the lighter I felt and
the higher my laugh grew within my chest until it finally surfaced. It spilled out here and there until I had
almost completely eliminated the poison, and the wellspring of laughter started
to burst. Like the faucet in the
beginning of the movie “Under the Tuscan Sun” that had no running water, by the
end, it was flowing at full blast.
My life is now
full of the influence of positive people and things. While misfortune still strikes like in anyone
else’s life, the conscious effort I once made to focus on and invite good
fortune has become almost effortless.
The curtains are thrown back and I enjoy the sun from so many open
windows. With this much sunshine in my
life, laughter is as easy and natural as breathing the fresh air.
I no longer need
people to jumpstart my happiness. I now
maintain it on my own, and, in fact, I go around lighting the fires of other’s
joy too. But I admit that the elation of
being in love adds more oxygen to the fire of my laughter, and my spontaneous
and unexplainable fits have increased exponentially.
When my new
5-year-old friend asked me at the dinner table why I was laughing, I couldn’t
give an answer because I was laughing so hard and trying not to choke on my food,
but the answer would have been “because it’s me. I don’t have a reason. I just
break out into laughter like Disney movies break out into song.” Sometimes, I
feel like such an idiot laughing at the most inopportune times, like trying to
eat my food, in the middle of a romantic kiss, or attempting
to stay upright when dancing. Nothing triggers it. It just bubbles up without
any warning. And when it starts, I can’t stop it. Fortunately, I have learned
from the man I am in love with that there is no such thing as an inopportune
time to laugh. The only people who
really think so lack this incredible joy of their own and my spontaneous
combustion of joy makes them as uncomfortable as the Grinch before his heart
grew.
The only way to find your laugh once you lose it is to
find yourself because you got snuffed out in the burial of
everything that once made you who you were.
The best compliment I ever got was when the man I fell in love with told
me on our first date that I had crow’s feet. I believe having laugh lines is
the most attractive feature a person can have.
Now when I have a sudden laugh attack, I am less embarrassed at the
inconvenient times, and everyone just has to have patience while I try to get
some strength back to my legs, catch my breath, wipe my tears, and get my
involuntary spasms of mirth under control. In the meantime, like Uncle Albert
in Mary Poppins, I invite you to allow yourself to catch my contagious
affliction of laughter and join me on the ceiling.
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