Laugh like a crazy person
And crazy like a laugh person
My Dad had a loud laugh.
Guttural is the word that comes to mind. Infectious would be another.
On business calls. At dinner. When we watched Scrubs together.
He described his childhood as boring, and his old family photos say the same. My Dad and his brother look dreadfully bored in nearly every one.
Except for those photos that are most staged. Where the family put on appearances, if only for a few seconds.
Plus, my grandmother would tell Dad “only boring people get bored” which added some weird layer of guilt to the mix.
Anyway.
I like to think he always had that big laugh, even as a kid.
And maybe, through a childhood without much solace – bullied at school, ignored at home – he found ways to savor the rare good moments.
That when joy showed up, however briefly, he threw himself into it.
Even if just for a few seconds, maybe he could access a sort of presence that his body had naturally closed him off from for most of his life.
And so he laughed hard.
He laughed loudly.
He laughed fully.
I think it may be the greatest gift he passed on to me and my sisters. At least top 5…
And I want to extend the sentiment.
I’m lucky not to have any present trauma that closes me off from living fully in every aspect of my life. At least none that I know of.
The only thing that closes me off is myself – a sort of fear of putting myself “on the hook,” and so I default to living a life that’s not necessarily true to me:
I choose security over the things I feel most called to do.
I choose silence over the uncomfortable words I know are in my heart.
I choose unhappiness over uncertainty.
I choose knowing what to expect over growing into someone I don’t know at all.
On the Tim Ferriss Show, David Whyte explained:
“All of us spend so much time trying to find a path where we won’t have our hearts broken. And really, the only way you can find a path where your heart won’t break is by not caring. Finding a path where you don’t care about things or other people, that’s the ultimate protection against heartbreak.”
And I think it’s my innate tendency to drift onto that path.
So I have to check myself.
That’s why I’ve made it clear to myself, since my father’s passing, that my main goal in life is to “live fully.” That’s partly why I’m writing this right now.
This feeling started right after his passing.
I knew deep inside of me that the only thing I needed to do at that moment was fully feel what I was feeling. To grieve in the way my body needed to, without judging or avoiding any feelings.
And now, I’m hoping to carry that same sentiment into every aspect of my life.
To fully feel the feelings that arise.
To fully enjoy the moments with loved ones.
To fully recognize the finality of every moment, and live accordingly.
All this to say, I’m starting a new line of those tacky throw pillows. It’ll say:
“Laugh hard. Cry hard. Fart hard.”
Six words to sum up my goal in this life.