On my journey to becoming a novelist, I spent a large chunk of time writing humor essays on parenting for online publications like Huff Post, Yahoo Parenting, and Babble. I loved writing those essays and continued doing so even after Babble disappeared, Yahoo Parenting lost its appeal, and Huff Post morphed into something a little different.
Part of the reason my parenting experiences drew me to humor was that my day-to-day life as a mom of six young kids was ridiculous and overwhelming and sometimes I wasn’t sure I’d make it through the day—whatever “making it” even meant. I was so dangerously close to tears that I wrote my reality into something hilarious.
From the outside looking in, it was hilarious.
Those humor essays, I believe, saved me during that time in my life. They saved me from being completely overcome by the overwhelm. They saved me from curling up in my bed and staying there. They saved me from giving in to the undertow of postpartum depression and paranoia.
That’s the magic of humor for me.
I remember surviving a forty-day stomach plague with a newborn, a one-year-old, and a three-year-old and thinking, One day I’ll laugh about this. How can I laugh now? When I walked into my toddler twins’ bedroom to get them up from their supposed-to-be-sleeping nap and I found they’d painted the walls with what was in their diapers—for the second week in a row!!!—I thought, One day I’ll laugh about this; how can I laugh about it now? When one of my sons took a Sharpie to every shirt he owned while I was organizing his brother’s closet, I reminded myself that one day I would laugh about it—so how could I laugh about it now?
I still do this today.
Humor does something magical to the brain. I don’t have any scientific proof for you today (although it does exist), but I know what it’s done in my own life. It brightens a world-weary day. It strengthens resolve and fortitude in some unexplainable way. It lifts moods and grows hope.
It also eases conflict. One of the fastest ways to diffuse the tension in an argument is to introduce some humor. Marriage counselors suggest that couples use a code word—the funnier, the better—when they’re arguing and emotions are flying a little too hot. (My husband’s and my code word is “crapulous,” an old retired gem that means feeling sick after eating or drinking too much—which is also how you can feel in the middle of an argument.)
When my sons are locked in a disagreement about something outrageously important—like who got more strawberries on their plate for lunch—all someone has to do is fart to blast through the tension. (Juvenile, I know, but it’s effective!)
I don’t write as many humor essays as I used to, because my sons have opinions about whether or not they appear in those essays—even if I’m mostly making fun of myself. But I have started embracing more humor in my fiction.
I have no idea why I waited so long to do it. It’s so much fun.
My latest book, The First Magnificent Summer (which released Tuesday!), is one of those humorous books. It’s not all humorous. It has substance and a hard story at its core, because humor, in my opinion, is best utilized in a story that means something. The hard places are made more digestible with humor. And we remember them, because they make us feel so many different emotions—joy, sorrow, delight, dread, satisfaction.
The difficult emotions coexist with the easy and enjoyable ones. We remember stories that make us feel—especially when there’s laughter involved.
Laughter connects us. Some of my favorite experiences with my family include watching a movie together and hearing our voices joined in laughter. Telling stories that elicit collective laughter around our dinner table. Making each other collapse into giggles because of silly acts or outrageous reactions.
Humor has an important place in our lives. I often tell my children, “If I can teach you to laugh at yourself, you’ll be well prepared for what the world and universe have in store for you.”
There’s no sense in taking ourselves (or the world) so seriously all the time. That’s not to say the world shouldn’t be taken seriously at all. There’s a big difference between at all and all the time. Some things are so ridiculous and unexplainable that all we can do is laugh. Some experiences are so ridiculous and unexplainable all we can do is laugh in response to them.
The old adage “laughter is the best medicine”? It turns out laughter is a kind of medicine. It heals hearts and opens minds, too. It connects us and bolsters us. It can even make us brave.
We could do with a little more laughter in our world.
I hope you have a month filled with giggles, snorts, and laugh-until-you-cry moments.
Here are my best tips for finding more laughter in your life:
1. Embrace the silly.
Especially if you have kids in your life, embracing the silly can increase the laughter in your home. Sometimes it’s as simple as breaking out in a silly dance. Sometimes it’s changing the lyrics to a song to more hilarious alternatives. When my kids pick rhyming picture books for our reading time, my husband likes making up his own word that doesn’t rhyme the stanza but is a synonym for the rhyming word. We get so many laughs out of this I’ve written a rhyming picture book that doesn’t rhyme!
2. Consume funny things.
It could be funny movies or TV shows or it could be humorous books (shared humorous audiobooks are the best). Look for comedy shows in your area, or play funny board games with family and friends. I’ve laughed until I’ve cried playing games like Kids Against Maturity and Poetry for Neanderthals with my kids and husband. Read a joke book or write your own and share it with all the people in your home. Even if they’re Dad-joke quality, kids will still shake their heads and laugh. Even the 16-year-old.
3. Try to turn one experience a week into a funny story.
Whether you write it down or you just tell it to someone, pick an experience from the last week that was annoying or frustrating or maybe even disheartening or mortifying. Try spinning the story in a humorous way. Then challenge yourself to do it again next week. And the week after that. Make it a habit, and see how your outlook shifts.
4. Observe the world.
People (especially kids) are hilarious, and sometimes they aren’t even trying. I visited a school recently, and one of the first questions for the Q&A time was, “How much do you bench press.” Uh…what does that have to do with writing? Nothing! But he was a seventh grade kid who was curious. So I got to tell him that I haven’t bench pressed anything since I was in college, and back then I’d bench pressed 140 pounds before my arms gave out and the guy at the next bench press station had to save me from Death by Benchpress Fail. Wasn’t funny at the time. But it’s funny now (according to every seventh grader in the room—because they love stories that prove adults are fools).
Try your own observations and see what you end up with.
