What’s So Funny?

I’ve been thinking a bit about laughter lately.

What is it exactly?

Where does it come from?
Why do human beings laugh?
Why do some people seem full of it while others rarely even smile?

And why is it that some of the best moments in life happen when laughter shows up unexpectedly?

Some friendships seem naturally connected to laughter. My friend Dave has always been one of those people for me. We don’t live near each other anymore, but when we get together — or sometimes even just talk on the phone — before long we’re laughing again.

I honestly don’t remember half of what we found so funny over the years, but I remember hours of uncontrollable laughter. The kind where you can barely breathe. The kind where every attempt to stop laughing somehow makes you laugh harder.

Nothing important was happening.
At least it didn’t seem important at the time.

But looking back, maybe it was.

I also remember climbing peach trees with my cousins at my grandma’s house. At one point she told us to stop picking the peaches. So naturally, we decided the solution was to climb into the tree and attempt to eat the peaches without picking them.

To this day, I still think that’s funny.

Maybe laughter lives somewhere near joy.
Maybe it lives near freedom.
Maybe it shows up when people feel safe enough to stop performing for a while.

I’ve also noticed something else over the years: some people laugh easily, while others seem unable to laugh at all.

You probably know people like that too.

Everything is serious.
Everything is heavy.
Nothing is funny.

And I wonder sometimes if laughter says something about how we see the world.

Do some people lose their sense of wonder?
Do they become too guarded?
Too exhausted?
Too determined to stay in control?

Children laugh constantly. Researchers say little kids may laugh hundreds of times a day while adults often laugh only a handful of times.

What happened to us?

I recently heard someone describe laughter as something that fills us rather than something we manufacture ourselves. That resonated with me because the best laughter rarely feels forced. It erupts. It catches you off guard.

You get filled with it.

I heard a funny story recently about human pride.

Human beings become very impressed with ourselves scientifically and decide to challenge God to a man-making contest.

“We can create life now,” we say proudly.
“You make a man and we’ll make a man.”

God says, “Okay.”

So humanity says,
“Fine. You take that pile of dirt and we’ll take this one.”

And God replies,
“No, no, no. Go get your own dirt.”

That joke makes me laugh because it restores perspective.

Human beings are amazing.
But we’re also funny creatures.

We strut around acting like we invented reality itself while standing on a planet we didn’t create, breathing air we didn’t design, sustained by processes we barely understand.

And somehow, instead of crushing us with that truth, God seems to allow room for joy.

Room for humor.
Room for laughter.

I actually wonder if laughter might be one of the great hidden gifts of life.

Not just jokes.
Not entertainment.
But laughter itself.

The kind shared between old friends.
The kind that erupts around dinner tables.
The kind that shows up in imperfect families, road trips, inside jokes, and moments nobody else would understand.

Maybe laughter is one of the ways we remember we’re alive.

Maybe it reminds us not to take ourselves too seriously.

Maybe it’s connected to humility.

After all, it’s hard to stay puffed up while laughing at yourself.

And maybe that’s part of the gift too.

The older I get, the more I appreciate people who can still laugh. Especially the ones who have suffered and somehow kept their joy anyway.

That kind of laughter feels different.
Deeper.
Kinder.
Less performative.

Almost grateful.

So here’s a question:

When was the last time you laughed so hard you cried?

And who are the people in your life that make that happen?

Hold onto them.