What is the girth of a human spirit, that when faced with death and destruction, chooses laughter.

Is it a failing, or a clarity, of perspective to meet fate with mirthful disregard. That we can find irony in the steel of the headsman’s axe, or that our tongue becomes untied as the hangman’s noose settles into place, must surely be the result of a twisted mind. For we are told that these are serious things and should be treated as such. Yet those who sit with death, a death that looks over their shoulder in silent commentary, long ago tempered their fear with familiarity. Death is not the special enemy of a chosen few, death is the taxman come visiting again. If we can muster a laugh in the face of tragedy, how can we not laugh in the face of mere disappointment, nuisance, and mediocrity.

If my laughter at the sight of my own wound seems insincere, it is. It is a necessary insincerity. What bone has ever been mended before its time? Will my sorrow heal what is broken? Will anger lessen the pain? Will fear, with its accompanying chemical cocktail, help me climb upon that horse that threw me again? My laughter, though faint, may seem inappropriate. I assure you that it is the final response I have left to give when I have no further tears, no Hail Mary passes to save the day, and no scent of fear left within me. Laughter is the appropriate response when I have done all that I can, and my bag of mindfulness is empty.

What happenstance can be so worthy that we cannot find the humor? Do we get angry when a bird dropping lands on our neighbor’s head? We will laugh, even as we hide our smiles behind our hand, until the bird returns and graces us with the same. And then the neighbor, bird poop aside, will laugh and forget, if only for a moment, his own misfortune and feel that there might be some justice in the world after all. If we can laugh together and share the irony of living as it happens to us, the weight of the world does not rest on our shoulders alone. So, laugh, laugh inappropriately, laugh and share the burden of knowledge that our time here is limited. The absurdities, and the inconveniences, are no more than practice for the serious things.