We all know the old axiom, “laughter is the best medicine.” An authority figure like a parent or teacher probably first uttered this when we were kids, and we’ve heard it numerous times since. It’s a simple reminder that when you aren’t feeling great (mentally, physically, or both), figuring out a way to elevate your mood is often an effective remedy, at least in part. You can do it anywhere at any time, can’t overdose, and it’s free. That’s a wonder drug.
And yet, as adults, we either forget this advice or no longer believe it. Maybe because we learned it during our formative years, we treat such counsel like a contention Santa Claus exists. That’s for children, not us grown-ups. Because in our world, things are serious. We have real responsibilities and problems. I’ve got a job, a mortgage, and a family to worry about.
Of course, the world is a serious place, too. Outside the confines of my home, the community is changing in ways I don’t appreciate. The political landscape nationwide is a mess. There’s a constant stream of misinformation, disinformation, and malformation on the internet I must rally against. We now face existential threats. Nuclear war is looming in a way we haven’t experienced in decades. Climate change might kill us. If not, AI probably will.
Above all, people need to take me and my agenda seriously. My opinions are important. What matters to me is consequential to everyone. My struggles and causes can’t be mocked. And you better not offend me, so stay on your toes. A person’s feelings are sacred and nothing to be trifled with, especially mine.
In case it isn’t apparent, I’m writing from the viewpoint of a generic American societal avatar in the last few paragraphs. While the tone is somewhat facetious and hyperbolic, it’s not far off the mark for many of us. There certainly are things we should give the appropriate degree of importance and gravity. But increasingly, we apply that attitude to absolutely everything. And this approach is destructive when it’s finally aimed at the one thing we always must maintain the ability to ridicule—ourselves.
My father often said, “He took his responsibilities seriously, himself not at all.” Usually, he did this in response to some situation where I needed to lighten up about my circumstances. There wasn’t some imminent mortal danger in play. No one’s health was at risk. I was purely wrapped up in my emotions and treating myself like the center of the universe. On those occasions, the best thing I could do was find a way to laugh. But I often failed to do so.
The absolute best example was a few weeks into my initial exposure to military life at the Naval Academy. I hadn’t experienced anything like it as a kid. So, when faced with people screaming at me all day during the crucible of Plebe Summer, I did not adapt well initially. I’d love to say I was a “duck” and let every insult and humiliation roll off me like water on feathers. But I mostly did the opposite. I took things personally.
At night, I was often depressed and even shed tears at times. Within the first few weeks, I wrote my dad a letter (after all, we didn’t have cell phones or the internet) stating that maybe the military wasn’t for me. I essentially wanted him to give me a license to quit, and I told him I was sorry if I was letting him down. A few weeks later, I received his response. In no uncertain terms, he said that nothing I did could disappoint him. He would always love me regardless. But if I made that choice, I better be sure I wasn’t letting myself down.
He also included what can best be described as a homemade mattress tag—one of those sewn-in labels that states, “Do not remove under penalty of law.” His version was just a tiny piece of paper with the words “SENSE OF HUMOR” printed in capital letters, but it was a potent reminder. Sometimes, the best countermeasure to wallowing in self-pity is stepping back and cracking a smile. Objectively look for the big deal in the scenario and realize it doesn’t exist. Nearly any situation is worthy of mockery. Never forget you can view it as such.
On the back of the sheet, my father typed Rudyard Kipling’s poem If. The core theme of that composition is simply an extension of the same message. Don’t let circumstances dictate your responses. Choose them.
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