What’s So Funny?
My sense of humor comes from my dad, who always reminds me that there is always a funny angle on life. He taught me the difference between being funny and punny. As a kid, I learned about comedy from Monty Python, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and by watching Jon Stewart’s The Daily Show. I remember sitting on a friend’s couch during a manic episode watching Python’s dead parrot sketch. This line particularly stuck with me: “This parrot is no more! He has ceased to be! He’s expired and gone to meet his maker! If you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch he’d be pushing up the daisies!” I believed everything would be ok because I was able to laugh. I’ve found that many situations, which cannot be changed by drastic actions, particularly lend themselves to levity. Humour is a wonderful resource. Ironically this article may not be very funny.
From a young age, I was told that it’s impossible to get through life without a sense of humor. As an adolescent, I learned the idea that many tragedies have a small amount of comedy in them. At age 15, I asked my first therapist how she found her chosen career. She said: have crappy adolescence. Allowing myself to laugh at my problems took the edge off the distress like taking an ibuprofen for a migraine. The phrase “laughter is the best medicine” may be cliche but it rang true in my experience.
In high school, I became obsessed with stand up. I frequently quoted from George Carlin’s, Sarah Silverman’s, Robin Williams’ and Jim Gaffigan’s comedy specials. When jet-lagged after a long vacation I would stay up for hours laughing at their anecdotes. These comedians took away my anxiety about sleeping and the low-grade sadness that comes with sleep deprivation. One of Carlin’s quotes that stick in my mind is “When it comes to bullshit, big-time, major league bullshit, you have to stand in awe of the all-time champion of false promises and exaggerated claims, religion.” I’ve placed my faith in atheism ever since.
A couple of weeks ago I had plans to go on a date. I received a text saying he couldn’t make it and that we should reschedule. Later that morning I was on FaceTime with my dad, who lives in England. I explained that I woke up feeling like someone had cancelled plans with me before I was even notified. Joking about the situation took away any feelings of rejection I had. I no longer cared about this guy or his lack of availability.
This morning I Facetimed my dad. He began the conversation by saying that he just bought a TV aerial so he can access free shows. He informed me that his satellite was being blocked by a pear tree. My dad has a well-developed sense of humor, has never had a therapist or has been prescribed psychiatric medication. He finds gaiety in the oddest of places.
In my experience times where humour is least accessible are the times when we need it the most. Sometimes laughter is available in the least comical of situations. After a traumatic event has occurred it’s not uncommon to display emotions that don’t fit the facts of the current situation. Some people laugh at funerals, despite there being little to joke about. Dark humour is a beautiful thing because it allows me to cope with difficult life events and makes them seem manageable.