Laugh

“A broad, soundless laugh now appeared on his face and no longer left it.”

-- from “In the Penal Colony” in The Metamorphosis and Other Stories by Franz Kafka

While I am generally happy and satisfied with my life, I admit that I am prone to occasional attacks of listlessness. Now and again, I have a bad day or endure a series of small frustrations, and I just can’t shake the blues. I end up sitting in my apartment, staring at a wall, wondering why my life isn’t what I thought it would be by now.

Last Thursday was one of those days. I was sad and lonely for no particular reason, and as I sat on my couch waiting for an appropriate time to go to bed, all I could think was that I wanted, very badly, to laugh.

I’ve always believed that laughter is one of the world’s greatest healers. A good bout of laughing really makes the rest of the world go away. The physical exertion of laughing hard forces the restless feelings out of me. The emotional release of laughing shifts my focus away from the negativity. Laughter is a never-fail, lasting cure for the blues, and the harder and longer I laugh, the better I feel.

So, on Thursday, I was really wishing for a laughing fit. My mind drifted to episodes in my past that left me unable to stop laughing. I hoped that the memory of one of these occasions would trigger me to laugh myself out of my funk.

I thought of the rehearsal for the play during my senior year in high school when we first started using props. One of the characters carried around a doll, believe it to be her dead son. The first time I saw the doll was during a run of the scene when my character was introduced to the doll as if it were a 5-year-old boy. My castmate walked on stage, said, “Mrs. Savage, this is my son,” and held out a doll of Steve from Blues Clues. The giant head, ugly shirt, and buckle shoes were too much for me, and I broke out laughing. The other cast member started to laugh too, and soon enough we were so far gone that the director sent us home. It was not my proudest moment, yet I remember feeling that comforting sense of exhaustion and release that a good laugh brings. (It’s very unlikely that she will ever read this, but I would bet that Disa still remembers this, too.)

I thought of the Easter weekend of my senior year in college, when a friend and I were making a whole chicken for dinner. We were rinsing the chicken in the sink to help thaw it out when, quite suddenly, the giblets came flying out and slid up the side of the sink fast enough to rise to eye level before landing back in the sink with a loud, metallic thump. My friend and I had a complete laughing meltdown that lasted for hours. (You remember, don’t you, Candace?)

I thought of the hayride I went on as an undergrad that unfortunately, occurred on a rainy, windy, cold evening. My friends and I sat hunched under our hoods, feeling the rain soak us through to our skins, hating life, and muttering complaints under our breath. Finally, one unforgettable person, determined to lighten the mood, yelled, “We are having a good time! Everybody just shut up!” The entire wagon dissolved into laughter even as we choked on the rain being blown into our faces. We continued laughing about that moment for years. (I miss you so much, Stephen.)

I thought of the time, shortly after moving to Chicago, that I came home from a bachelorette party feeling more than a little tipsy. One of my roommates was with me and stayed out in the front yard talking on the phone as I walked into the apartment. My other roommate had apparently been doing yoga while we were gone, as there was a large yoga ball sitting in our living room. In my state of inebriation, I apparently could not quite work out what the yoga ball was or why it was there, so I carried it out to the porch and rolled it down the stairs to my roommate, saying, “Look!” We both laughed until tears were rolling down our cheeks.

It was easy to remember plenty of fits of laughter, but the memories didn’t have the effect I was hoping for. I remembered the feelings of euphoria and release, but all I could do was smile or sometimes let out a small chuckle. The real laugh felt somehow trapped inside me, unable to really get out.

It’s been about four days now, and I still haven’t really laughed the way I want to. I’ve tried calling up more memories; that hasn’t done it. I’ve tried forcing myself to laugh harder at things that are only moderately funny; that hasn’t worked either. Perhaps true, gut-wrenching, blues-healing laughter can’t be manufactured. I’m just going to have to wait.

There are other ways to shake off my blues. I can work on the various projects that are laying around my apartment. I can play with my cat. I can get out into the fleeting sunshine, when the sun makes an appearance. I can hold onto that silent laugh trapped inside me and hope that when I do dissolve into laughter again, the experience will leave me contented and worry-less for a while.

I bet it will. And I bet I won’t see it coming. (Look at me! I’m being optimistic!) In the meantime, thanks to all of you who have laughed with me over the years. I remember those moments with a clarity and sentiment I can hardly explain, and I wish you all plenty more moments of suffocating laughter.