Laugh at Your Own Dumpster Fire (Beer Gut Optional)

I’ve mentioned before that I’m a little weird, awkward, slightly introverted, and yet slightly extroverted. I don’t know why I am this way, I simply am. But wrapped up in all of that strangeness, and everything I enjoy, there are few things I love more than a good sense of humor and a solid laugh. The kind of laugh that makes my beer gut shake like it’s having its own personal epileptic seizure. You know, the kind of laugh that brings you to tears, and also, in my case, the inability to actually breathe normally. I fucking love those feelings. Even though I end up breathing like a bulldog on a hot summer day. Please don’t try and picture it, it’s not pleasant imagery, and nobody should have to bear witness to that kind of atrocity. It’s not for the faint of heart.

What’s so great about laughing, and what I love so much about it, is that it’s profoundly involuntary. It’s an honest response that you can’t consciously control. In fact, you have little to no control over it, or what you find funny. Sure, you can suppress laughter once you find something funny to make sure you don’t laugh at an inappropriate time. Been there, done that, not my finest hour, but what is done is done.

However, no matter how old I get, sometimes when someone rips a fart, it’s hard not to laugh, regardless of the seriousness of the situation. I know I am a child because of that, but if someone has the audacity to rip a cheek splitter off some good hard wood, like a church pew or a wood chair that creates a nice resonance sound at the most inappropriate or appropriate of times, brother, let me tell you, I am there for it. I will gladly bear and shoulder the responsibility of being the one who laughed.

A day without laughing or smiling? That’s going to be a hard fuck no from me. Regardless of how bad the day is, laughing and smiling make the dumpster-fire days a little more endurable. Even in my darkest hours, in a hole I never thought I could climb out of, I somehow still found a way to laugh. The weight of the world felt like it was on my shoulders, and when you add the weight of myself on top of that, the math stops making sense real quick.

I mean, I’m fat. Yes, that is spelled correctly. One day I might get to use the “phat” version, but as sure as cats judge silently, that day is not today! Holy shit! I need to eat more leafy greens or something, this is getting out of hand. It’s like I’m lugging around two Christmas hams for thighs. My only saving grace is, for now, they aren’t touching, so luckily chub rub is not currently an issue. You know, chub rub, when your thighs touch, and every time you walk it sounds like 80-grit sandpaper rubbing together, or if you run, you take the serious health risk of possibly starting a friction fire.

All I am saying is there is a legitimate reason that I don’t tie my shoes. If I bent over to tie my shoes, a few things would happen. First, I would have a hard time breathing. Second, I would begin to see stars and be on the verge of blacking out. Third, if I were ever in the compromising position of being bent over trying to tie my shoes, there is no sitting back up, well, at least not without the help of someone or something. So why put myself through that kind of pain and misery when I can simply not tie my shoes? Seems like a no-brainer to me, what do I know?

Within the many things that humor and laughing have taught me, the one that hits the hardest is learning to laugh at myself. In theory, that sounds pretty straightforward. I’m not so sure it is. Maybe I’m overthinking it, but at least for me, being able to laugh at myself requires something a little deeper, I have to actually know myself.

Consider the ancient Greek aphorism, “Know Thyself,” inscribed at the Temple of Apollo at Delphi and emphasized by Socrates. What this is really saying is taking a long, honest look in the mirror and calling out the strengths you like to brag about, the flaws you try to hide, and the patterns you keep repeating like you’re somehow going to outsmart them. Because if you don’t actually know who you are, you’re not laughing at yourself, you’re just laughing at the surface-level version and missing the real punchline.

When you take the time to honestly look in the mirror and realize who you are, you become more comfortable with yourself, especially the parts you may not be thrilled about. For me, those are the parts worth laughing at the most. I am not 100% comfortable with who I am, but I sure as shit am a lot more comfortable than I was a few years ago. Taking that long look and doing a little self-discovery, noticing the flaws that are worth laughing at, makes it easier. Another way to look at it is that having a humorous view toward myself has made the hard truths about myself a lot easier to digest.

Coming to the realization that certain aspects of myself are permanent, it is easier to laugh at them rather than dwell on trying to fix something that can’t be fixed. For example, as much as I would like to have washboard abs and perfect muscle definition, that’s never going to happen. Yes, I work out a lot, but genetically, that’s likely not in the cards. So rather than get upset or depressed and dwell on it, I accept the fact, laugh at it, and am still happy that by “normal” standards I am strong, I simply look and am built differently. The only time it would matter is boosting self-confidence on the beach so I don’t feel like a bloated whale washed up on shore. Aside from that, the tarp stays on, so who really gives a shit? I have nobody to impress. All I am saying is that for someone like me, who isn’t a father, I have a pretty sick dad-bod thing going on over here!

Aside from physical insecurities, I also have intellectual insecurities. I don’t know my IQ, and I’ve never had it tested, and to be blunt, I give zero fucks. My IQ is my IQ, and I can’t do anything about that. Yes, there are subjects I wish I understood better, but some of that is simply wired into me. That’s okay, I have a fairly good grasp on other things. Nothing that will make me rich, but not to brag, I’ve won some bar trivia here and there! My wife really enjoys the free t-shirts from those victories.

Math, however, is not my cup of tea. My brain just wasn’t wired for it. So instead of stressing myself to exhaustion, I make fun of my inability to solve complex problems. Complex isn’t even on my radar, I still don’t understand compound fractions, and tape measures can certainly fuck right the hell off. It’s simply easier to laugh at what I’m bad at than dwell on it. That doesn’t seem like a good use of time and energy, but what do I know? I’m just a guy who isn’t good at math who likes to write thoughts and ideas down.

I am sure that I could go on and on about the benefits of humor and laughing at yourself, but I’ll end with this: life is hard. It’s filled with pain, sadness, anger, and frustration, but too many people take themselves too seriously. I know I’m guilty of that, but luckily, it didn’t last long for me. Certain events have made me realize how short life can feel, and how long it can seem at the same time. I’d much rather live following my inner child than take life, or myself, too seriously. Where’s the fun in that? At least once or twice a week, my coworkers will say, “You seriously are a child, aren’t you?” Absolutely I am. Yes, I can take my work seriously when I need to, but if I can spend a few minutes shoveling animal crackers down my gullet or making a questionable joke, you bet your ass I’m doing it. Where is the harm in acting like a child once in a while? As long as it doesn’t get in the way, what’s the big deal? It doesn’t hurt anyone, and if it brings a smile to someone’s face, it’s worth it. There’s no better currency in this world than a laugh or smile you caused.

I don’t have one single forte in this world. If I did, fuckin’ no way would it be public speaking! Part of my current job occasionally requires speaking to larger groups of people. Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, that is not what I thought I signed up for! I either had to embrace the fact that there was no getting out of it, or I probably wouldn’t have a job. And I like things, ergo, I need money, which in turn means I need a job, which means I had to embrace the hard truth: I was going to have to speak in front of large groups.

The thought makes me shake like a fat leaf on a skinny branch, and I didn’t know so many shades of red existed until I saw myself on screen. Not for the faint of heart, and I clearly have a face for the dark! All that aside, my ability to laugh at myself and the ridiculousness of public speaking has made those experiences equally as sweaty but a little less traumatic. Every time I try to crack a joke (even when they don’t land), or poke fun at myself, it makes me more comfortable and hopefully brings a human aspect to the crowd. Humor about yourself can help you overcome challenges you thought were impossible. Now, public speaking is my challenge and always will be. But on the flip side of that rusty coin, your challenges are yours to define, and once you do, my full black heart firmly believes that a little light-heartedness and humor makes them obtainable.

So remember: laugh at yourself (tell your embarrassing stories). If you don’t know about my bath with Mr. Bubble, my apparently submersible smartphone, my cat-like speed and reflexes, or my all-encompassing terror-filled bathing experience, please drop me a line, I’d be more than happy to let you laugh at my expense. Surround yourself with people and things that make you smile and laugh. And remember, funny shit is going to happen, don’t go a day without laughing. Life’s too short to be serious, too heavy to carry without humor, and too weird not to laugh at yourself while everyone else stares awkwardly.

So go ahead…snort (not drugs), giggle, wobble that beer gut, and own it!