Show me the funny
Yo, mon petite chou-chou! (A term of endearment that means “my little cabbage-cabbage” because the French do what they want—all while pulling off that effortless cigarette-pants-and-perfectly-unperfect-bed-head look that when I try to copy makes me look like a deranged muppet.)
I have a really thrilling and important topic to talk to you about today: Taxes!!
Yesterday was Tax Day in the U.S. It got pushed back from April due to the virus but also to test just how excellent of procrastinators we can be. Seriously, we had three extra months and on July 14th you’re running around the house without pants, pulling out your hair, searching for your W-2, and looking like I do when I try to look French. Get it together, Gonzo!
So I’m here to deliver a little lesson on responsible tax prep.
Haha. HAHAHAHA!
Gotcha! No, I’m not giving a lesson about tax prep! Because taxes are the worst. Especially if you’re an entrepreneur because are-you-freaking-kidding-me-I-gotta-do-this-shit-four-times-a-year?! Ope! There I go talking about what I’m absolutely not talking about…
Let’s cut the spreadsheets and P&L reports and talk about the thing that’s really on all our minds right now.
Fun!
Okay, maybe not fun perse, but all the doubting questions that it’s wearing like they’re the seasons hottest accessories.
Like, is it okay to laugh? Am I a schmuck if I get all giddy? Do we all have to walk around looking like we did during that one “emo semester” in middle school?
There’s this sense of reverence and propriety that takes over when something terrible happens. Be it a personal or global tragedy, there’s a silent record-scratch effect that drops people into solemnity.
We do this out of respect. We do this because we don’t want to be flippant about other people’s pain or our own. It’s not a bad thing. Giving a shit is never a bad thing.
But what happens when the tragedy stretches on and on with no end in sight? When the injustices and the pain seem to permeate everything in our lives like marinara sauce into your favorite Tupperware?
Let’s be real, that’s what 2020 feels like. And we can’t see the finish line.
There is some legit scary and heartbreaking stuff happening. A lot of the time it feels like humanity is careening down a mountainside inside of a giant flaming dumpster while passersby throw kegs of kerosene and cilantro at us.
Unsurprisingly, it feels somehow improper to laugh in this scenario. So what are we to do?
The answer: we laugh anyway.
We compartmentalize.
We give our anxiety the night off. Put it in a box. Jingle our keys to make it stop screaming, then plop it down in front of an endless loop of The Backyardigans reruns.
This is especially critical for introverts. Because of our tendency to go inward and ruminate, we’re all the more affected by these occurrences.
Compartmentalizing to recharge does not mean we become ignorant. The world really, really needs us to keep being bold.
But don’t aim for kicking ass and taking names when what you need is to do is kick ass and take naps.
Giving ourselves permission to let our guts bounce around with laughter even if it feels like we shouldn’t serves two powerful purposes: It supports your own wellbeing and, in a roundabout way, it supports the wellbeing of errrrrrbody else.
It supports you by activating and then relieving your body’s stress response, clearing headspace to come up with novel solutions, improving circulation, and edging out tension. There’s even evidence that it can improve your immune system. Take that, Big Rona!
The roundabout way that it helps other people is by sticking it to the man! And by “the man,” I mean anyone who benefits from you not using your voice.
While not all that’s happening in the world is intentional, a lot of it is. Decent humans who care about other people are intentionally being assaulted with garbage from all sides so that they get angry, then exasperated, then overwhelmed. There’s a reason for this.
Overwhelmed people stop trying to raise hell.
THAT we cannot stand for. Bold introverts are here to raise hell. We’re here to make a difference.
When we refuse to let the overwhelm win out, laughter becomes an act of service.
From where I’m standing, there are two alternatives to all this joy and hilarity business.
The first is laughing, but for all the wrong reasons. We do not abide Schadenfreude.
In the kindest terms I can muster, if you get your jollies from another person’s pain, you can fuck off. Then keep fucking off. Fuck off until you reach a fence with a big sign that reads “No fucking off beyond this point.” Climb that fence, dream the impossible dream, and go on fucking off forever.
I have no time for that nonsense.
The other option, of course, is to give into The Suck. I don't want to be all Suzy Creamcheese about shit situations and pretend they don’t exist (I hope that bit is obvious by now), but I also don't want to start an intimate relationship with the poop emoji. I don't care how happy that guy looks, he's still a literal turd.
Option number two is the rolling over and accepting whatever comes option. This is the soggy waffle carcass option.
This is the limp option, not the bold option.
The saying goes that the only certainties in life are death and taxes (oops, there I go again…). That may be true, but I’m much more interested in choices than certainties anyway.
And given the choice, I’ll take guilty laughter over powerless propriety. Every time.
Show me the funny! What’s bringing you giggles and guffaws these days? How would compartmentalizing help you? Where would laughter feel bold and revolutionary in your life?