The Best Medicine

Do you laugh easily?
Are you good at telling jokes?
Do you enjoy relaxing with a favorite comedy after work?

Maybe you're one who gets the folks around you laughing by telling a story about what happened at the supermarket Wednesday. That's not me. I used to be able to draw people in with an amusing story as I preached on Sunday morning. Not so much that I considered stand-up comedy but enough that I thought I might have learned some timing. Unlikely. In the twenty-seven months since I went on medical leave, my only recollection of making someone laugh was with a dubious expression when they defended their procrastination a little too innocently. They cracked up. I'm trying to stop joking with my bestie. Whether it’s my delivery, their reception, or both, it doesn't work. They invariably take me seriously. Thankfully, we laugh together enough that I get my daily quota.

Since humor can be challenging for autistic folks, this could be my problem. While I can laugh alone at Buster Keaton's physical comedy, for ’most anything else I need another person laughing to get me going. Two years in a row, I laughed most inappropriately in a conference room full of people as the bishop and a superintendent were announcing which churches were welcoming new pastors. Something in their traditional wording fooled me into thinking I heard a joke. I've adapted somewhat.

• This year, I covered my mouth so that if errant laughter erupted, most people (Bishop Jung) wouldn't hear.
• I don't bother watching comedy alone.
• I make a point of being around people who laugh. Together, we laugh at ourselves and life.

Last week, I spent a few days in Green Bay visiting my kids. When Jay mentioned enjoying watching “The Good Place” the rest of us weren't surprised. The fantasy comedy series delves into all sorts of philosophical questions. Ever since he discovered philosophy in college (took every class offered and earned a 3rd major!) he's had a passion for it. 

Leaving the supermarket yesterday, I told Kay about something I'd seen in the dairy aisle. She responded quickly with a “derriere” quip. We laughed heartily though little of it made any sense. Later we watched “She Hulk” and while I didn't laugh much at this unapologetic comedy, we both laughed frequently at Washington Irving's word pictures as we read aloud a seasonal favorite, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. (And we made it to “The End” for the first time!)

These last two and a half years have been hard for all of us. I suspect that the pandemic and the polarization we find nearly everywhere make it harder to find humor in everyday life. And yet, laughter truly is the best medicine. A colleague who contracted Lyme disease some years ago credits his healing, in part, to daily laughter therapy.

I've said many times that we humans are made for relationship. We're also made for laughter. Whether we actually cry or not, life offers many opportunities for tears. It's our job to make sure we notice – and create – abundant openings for laughter as well. This can be hard. When our days are filled with grief or the ones we laugh with are far away, it can seem like nothing's funny. Still, we need to laugh. To giggle and guffaw. To grab our sides with tears streaming down our faces. We need this!

Partly because of a limited capacity for screen time because of the disease, I don’t get my daily quota of laughter. I can feel it and I’m not sure how to resolve this. Do you have an idea? I’d be delighted (and grateful) if you offered a suggestion.

    

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